


A Love Song Like the Way It's Meant to Be

by smutty_claus, Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-22
Updated: 2010-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Rose tries to find a way to tell her family she's in love with the son of their old enemy, she is heartened (and a bit weirded out, honestly) to discover that her uncle is shagging someone so much worse.</p><p>29,600 words. Equal parts Scorpius/Rose & Harry/Pansy. NC-17. No underage or infidelity. Written for smutty_claus. November 2010.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Love Song Like the Way It's Meant to Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okydoky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okydoky/gifts).



> Many thanks to marguerite_26 for the beta work.

**To:** okydoky  
**From:** Your Secret Santa

>   
>  **Title:** A Love Song Like the Way It's Meant To Be  
>  **Author:** Snegurochka_Lee  
>  **Pairings:** Scorpius/Rose, Harry/Pansy  
>  **Summary:** As Rose tries to find a way to tell her family she's in love with the son of their old enemy, she is heartened (and a bit weirded out, honestly) to discover that her uncle is shagging someone so much worse.  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Length:** 29,600 words  
>  **Warnings:** None! The kids are 19 and the grown-ups are forty-something. Harry and Ginny are divorced, so, no infidelity, but all Epilogue kids do exist.  
>  **Author's notes:** okydoky, I could barely pick between all your awesome pairings, but these two leapt out and grabbed hold. I hope you enjoy it. Enormous thanks to M. for all the rounds of cheerleading and beta'ing she put up with, and to r_becca for her infinite patience. The title is from the Dire Straits song, 'Romeo and Juliet.' ;)

 

**Spring ( _or, Rose asks a question_ )**

 

"Mum," Rose ventured, levitating the kettle over a pair of cups, "what's wrong with Uncle Harry?"

Maybe it was the new Stealth and Tracking module she was on, but she'd started noticing things more lately. It was a bit unsettling. If being an Auror meant she'd have hyper-aware senses all the time, constantly paranoid in crowds and counting steps to the exits, maybe this wasn't the life for her after all.

Or maybe it was going to be the most exciting life _ever_.

Her mother looked up from the parchment scattered over the kitchen table. "What? Why? He's fine. I just saw him for lunch this week. He's completely _fine_. Why? What has Lily said to you?" She clamped her mouth shut too quickly and busied herself in her notes again. Hm. Rose knew that misdirect strategy like the back of her own hand. Mum was the one who needed a Stealth and Tracking module. Honestly.

"So." She lowered the kettle and pulled her chair out, easing herself in without taking her eyes off her mother. "You've noticed it, too."

Mum pressed her lips together. "Noticed what?" she said, her voice tight.

" _Mum_."

"All right!" She sighed, stirring her tea. "I know him better than I know myself, and yes, he's up to something." She gave Rose a warning look. "But no, I don't know what it is, and _no_ , it's most definitely not your business."

"Let me practice," begged Rose, leaning forward across the table and clutching her teacup. "I have only average marks so far in the module, and I want to be _tops_."

Mum smiled at her. "I know, but leave him be. He's had a rough go of it; you know that." She stirred her tea absently, gazing out the kitchen window.

Rose tried not to roll her eyes. She saw Harry nearly every day at the Ministry, probably more than her mother did these days, and he hardly seemed the wounded snowflake the rest of the family made him out to be. Mum talked as though now that he no longer had a wife to keep tabs on these things, Harry could put his trousers on backwards and not even notice. "I'll be careful. And anyway, you're dying to know what it is," she added mischievously, grinning over her teacup. "I know you."

Mum flushed. "There are boundaries, Rose. The man deserves some privacy."

"That's not what you say when you go by at weekends to make sure he's done his laundry!"

"I do _not_."

"Or are _you_ his secret?" Rose cackled. "Wait, it all makes sense now."

"You're worse than your Uncle George, you miserable brat." Mum leaned back in her chair, blowing on her tea and smiling.

Praise indeed. Rose laughed. "All right, all right. What's Dad found out, then?"

Now it was Mum's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, he keeps getting distracted by the new dartboard at Mulligan's. Every time they go for drinks, he promises to ask the right questions and then promptly forgets as soon as he gets a bulls-eye."

Rose sympathised. That dartboard _was_ ace. You flicked your wand at it and it created the ghost of a dart that flew toward the board like a Patronus. Depending on your Patronus, it might just eat the other darts off the board. "All right, well, this is what I've seen." She leaned forward in her chair and began counting on her fingers. "He's still in his office every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday when I leave at six. But Mondays and Thursdays..."

Mum's lips quirked.

"... he leaves at 4:45 on the nose. _And_ he puts a different shirt on before he goes, because I can see the collar under his robes and it isn't Ministry standard. I think he might have Muggle clothes on underneath on those days."

"Aurors can wear Muggle clothes," Mum pointed out.

"Yes, but not usually on their way _home_."

"Ah."

Rose was just getting going. "He's also been spotted with business cards on his desk for two of those newer shops in Diagon Alley." She paused. Bugger. Skating on thin ice here, but what the hell. She tried to keep her voice even. "The, uh, the jewellry shop, and that newer potions one."

Mum's head jerked up from where she'd been gazing fondly down at her tea as she listened. "The Malfoy one? What's he doing going in there?"

Her tone sliced through Rose's chest. "I– don't know. It's Astoria Malfoy's, I think. Don't know much about it," she mumbled.

"Draco and his debutante," Mum muttered, her lips tight.

"Mum–"

"Don't tell your father about that tidbit," she warned. "He and George are probably working on a way to burn it to the ground and blame a faulty cauldron."

"What?!"

Mum gave her an exasperated look, waving her hand. "Joking, joking."

"No, you're not." Rose's stomach churned.

After a long moment of silence, Mum reached out and squeezed Rose's arm. "You are young and ambitious," she said quietly, "and you've had no reason in your life but to think the best of people. You can thank your Uncle Harry for that."

"And you, and Dad." Rose gave her a sad smile. "I know. And I can't imagine what it was like back then, but–"

"But you can't trust everybody." A faraway look passed over her face. "You might want to believe everyone is inherently good in this world, but then you meet a Death Eater face to face, right in the middle of Malfoy Manor–" her voice dropped to a low scratch – "and you think–"

"That's not what I was going to–"

Mum raised her voice. "You think to yourself, it's just not _possible_ that people actually exist in the world who believe things like they did."

"It's _different_ now, Mum!"

A hollow silence fell over the kitchen, and Rose lost her courage.

"Isn't it?"

Mum pushed her chair back and stood, carrying the teacups to the sink herself – to steady her hands, Rose decided. She moved back towards Rose and stood over her, smoothing her palm over Rose's thick hair. Sighing, Rose leaned into the touch, warming her cheek against Mum's jumper. "Don't bother Harry," she said quietly.

With a quick kiss to the top of Rose's head, Mum left the kitchen. Rose sat at the table awhile longer, wondering how it was possible that _twenty-five years_ still wasn't long enough to forgive and forget.

***

New Year's Eve that year was a lavish affair. The Auror division hosted what had purported to be an "elegant ball for the Ministry's most devoted servants," but really had turned into a whisky-fuelled private bash for Harry's family and friends, making full use of Ministry facilities and oh, in case it hadn't been mentioned yet, the Ministry _whisky_.

Rose managed to procure a rare glass of wine and shuffled off to the side of the ballroom to gulp it. She loved her family; she really did. But tonight she couldn't help but wish she were somewhere else, with someone else, very much _doing_ something else.

She felt the coin warm in her pocket, and her hand darted for it before she could even think about discretion. They hadn't been able to see each other in nearly two weeks, what with the holidays. She cowered near a plant and consulted the coin, already feeling her face heat.

  
_miss you_  


She closed her eyes briefly and sighed, unable to keep the smile off her face. That nagging doubt never quite went away, that feeling she brushed aside every so often that he would get tired of this, that soon he would realise she wasn't worth all this sneaking around, wasn't worth earning the wrath of his family if they ever found out.

But for now, at least, he missed her. She quickly returned the message and waited to see if he'd send another. She wondered where he was tonight – probably cooped up in his family's house, entertaining pig-headed guests of his father's. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted her dad and uncles safely across the room, although she should figure out where her mother was; she could be sneaky.

  
_want a new years kiss?_  


She breathed out slowly. God, yes. Did she ever. She hadn't kissed a tonne of blokes, only two besides Scorpius, but the way he made her feel every time he kissed her... She couldn't imagine anyone else making her feel that. He had a beautiful mouth, his lips soft and his tongue always a bit shy against hers, asking permission before pressing gently into her mouth. She'd part her lips against his and usually sag into his body, making him laugh softly into her mouth and hold her steady with his arms around her. When his glasses got in the way, she'd pause and pull back, lift them off his face, and kiss the tip of his nose before folding them in her hand and leaning back in. _That's better_ , she'd murmur, and his cheeks would colour as he tilted his head to the side, pulling her bottom lip between his and letting his nose brush her cheek.

"Honey, what are you doing over here? It's almost midnight! Go find your brother before he tries to kiss Lily again."

Mum. Bollocks. Rose turned. "It's not better for him to kiss _me_ than Lily, you know."

"Yes it is, because he won't try to kiss _you_ on the mouth." She rubbed her eyes. "Got to get that boy a date," she muttered to herself.

Rose closed her fist over the coin, but not quickly enough.

"What's that?"

She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "Oh, just work stuff. You know." The wonderful thing about her mother, Rose had often thought over the past year and a half as she tried to keep her relationship with Scorpius a secret, was that "work stuff" never failed in its effectiveness as the best way to avoid further questions. Mum would always just nod and wave her hand in sympathy.

"Tonight?"

Damn. "Well, you know." She struggled for an excuse. "I'm still a trainee. They like to put us through the ringer. Not a big deal," she added, swallowing. "Module leader just wanted us all to check in, make sure we don't have a late night. Busy day tomorrow, and everything." She trailed off, exhaling through parted lips. She was utter bollocks at lying, and her mother knew it. Robards had already warned her that she'd have to get better at it or risk failing Stealth and Tracking. She wished she could tell him that she had more experience with _stealth_ lately than the lot of her classmates combined, so he could stick it up his –

"Robards? He shouldn't be bothering you tonight. And not with a... coin." Oh, for God's sake. Harry appeared beside Mum, and now it was all going pear-shaped. He trailed off, narrowing his eyes at her.

"It's new," she gritted out, holding his gaze.

"Can you talk to him, Harry?" said Mum. "She works hard, doesn't she? There's no need to bother her on New Year's Eve."

"No, there isn't." His eyes didn't leave Rose, and now he was folding his arms across his chest.

"He's not bothering me!" Rose struggled to keep her voice even. "I was just checking in. Finished, okay?" She waved the coin in her fist, hoping to hell they didn't ask to see it. "Go find Hugo; I'll be there in a second."

"All right," sighed Mum. "Give that to Uncle Harry; he can dismantle it for the rest of the night. And then come dance with me." She gave Rose a smile and squeezed her arm.

When she was gone, Harry tilted his head to the side. "What's up, Rosie?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing!" Damn. That was too quick and far too screechy. She pressed her lips together. His arms still folded over his chest, he leaned against the nearby wall, regarding her.

"Okay," he said after a moment. "You don't have to tell me. But are you all right?"

She sighed, relaxing a fraction. "Yes, of course."

"Not doing anything illegal?" He grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes.

" _No_." She took a chance. "It was just a message from... a friend."

"A friend your mother doesn't know about."

She sighed again. Powers of deduction. He _was_ rather cleverer than Mum tended to give him credit for. "Right."

"This friend in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that." She dropped her gaze, putting the coin back in her pocket.

"This friend... asking you to do something you don't want to do?"

"No!" Her head shot up. "Of course not."

He smiled at her. "Good. Carry on, then."

She grinned. Thank God.

"But Rose?"

She glanced up.

"If you're going to use the _work stuff_ excuse with your mother again, don't make me lie for you."

She grimaced. "I won't. I'm sorry."

He pushed away from the wall and squeezed her shoulder. "Come dance with your cousins. It'll do wonders for James and Al's social life to be seen with an Auror." He winked at her and beckoned her to follow. With one last rueful thought spared for the unanswered message in her pocket, she obeyed.

***

Half an hour later, the fucking coin was burning a hole in her pocket, and Rose could have wept from frustration. Why did she have to spend her New Year's here with her family? She grabbed another glass of wine from a passing tray and took a hearty gulp. She just needed five bloody minutes alone to message Scorpius back. Was that so much to ask? But no, first she had to assure Lily that her upswept hair did make her look older, probably twenty-five, in fact, and no, she didn't know why those older blokes at the bar hadn't noticed her yet; then she had to judge James and Al's drinking contest, awarding maximum points to James, against her better judgement, for swallowing a half-pint of dark goblin rum in one go and not vomiting; then she had to redirect Hugo's longing gaze away from Teddy's (okay, she did have to admit this) astonishingly tight arse as he swept Victoire around the dance floor – or maybe he was looking at Victoire's arse? One could never tell with Hugo, honestly – and try for the umpteenth time to convince him that while it was perfectly normal at his age to want to shag anything that moved, he might want to start looking outside his extended family; and _then –_

Oh, sod it. She turned on her heel and strode out of the ballroom before anyone could stop her, locking herself in a stall in the downstairs loo and messaging Scorpius as fast as she could.

  
_torture. save me_  


A moment later his came back.

  
_careful. might just_  


It was quite unfair that he apparently was having zero problems gaining full access to his coin in the middle of _his_ party, so yes, he could bloody well come and save her if he had so much time on his hands. She smiled, tracing the coin with the tip of her finger.

  
_yeah? am in ground floor loo. HELP_  


She waited another moment and then sighed, pulling the stall door open and turning the faucet on. She needed her own flat; that was the thing. She needed a real job with real income, so she could move out of her parents' house and date anyone she pleased. Even though there was only one person she wanted to date. There had only ever been one.

"Wow, you weren't joking. Seriously, hiding in the loo?"

She looked up and felt her face light up with relief. She launched herself across the little room and wrapped her arms around his neck. He laughed, catching her and holding her close, one hand in her hair and the other tight across her back.

"Happy New Year," he murmured into her hair, drawing back to kiss her. She grinned against his mouth, because God, at _last_. Her fingers played in his hair as he kissed her breathless, his lips soft and warm and anchoring. He walked backwards to the wall, pulling her with him and peppering her with quick kisses until she fell on him and pressed him back, attacking his mouth with more verve.

"Happy New Year – mmm – to you, too," she said with a laugh. Her hands wandered down over his shoulders and chest, palms pressing in and feeling the muscle underneath his deep blue robes. It was that potion stirring he had to do all day, she figured. It toned his arms and shoulders much more than usual for a non-Quidditch-playing Ravenclaw.

He kept his hands firmly to himself, she noticed with a bit of frustration, cupping her face or the back of her neck. He wasn't venturing lower. She pressed her chest against his, drawing her hands down his sides and around his back. Feeling daring, she slipped one hand lower, brushing her fingers just lightly over his arse and around his hip.

He nearly bit down on her lower lip, groaning, and she could feel him hardening under his robes, the bulge swelling against her abdomen. She took a deep breath, her body tingling. Her first move seemed to convince him that he could touch her, too, and his hands moved from where his fingers had been lightly stroking the side of her neck inside her collar, down to the sides of her breasts. His thumbs slid over both nipples at once, and she gasped.

"Sorry." He jumped back.

"No, _God_." She moaned, crowding him against the wall again and grabbing one of his hands. She could feel her face heat, but she barely cared as she placed his palm over her breast.

"Oh," he breathed, gazing down at it. " _Rose_."

Unable to help herself, she began to unbutton his robes, sliding her hands inside.

" _No_ ," he groaned as if in pain, his head hitting the wall behind him. "We don't have time. Don't– ah. Don't start if you can't finish."

It wasn't a threat. It might even have been funny if he hadn't sounded so tortured. "I can finish," she whispered. "Just don't take forever, like usual." She grinned against his neck, kissing down to his collarbone and across his chest.

He laughed, deep and sudden. "Yeah. That's always my problem. So bloody _slow_." He shoved his hands in her hair. "Oh my God, I missed you. You look amazing, you know."

She smiled, glancing up at him. She already felt thick from wanting him, waiting for his touch. "I've already indicated you can shag me in a Ministry loo; you don't need to sweet talk me."

He groaned again, pulling her up for a kiss. "Thought I'd be a gentleman," he murmured. In response, she finished opening his robes and dug for his trousers. Holding himself very still, as if afraid any movement would make her change her mind, he gulped and stared down at her hands as they opened his zip.

It wasn't as though they hadn't done this before, but Rose would never get tired of the little thrill she felt whenever they did. He always seemed so in awe of her, like he couldn't believe it was actually happening. He'd never pressured her, not even when they first started dating and she was more eager than he – at least outwardly – to see what sex was like. It hadn't exactly been magical, that first time, but since then Rose had been keen to practice, and Scorpius was fully cooperative in her quest to figure out what he could do to her, how he could touch her, to make her feel good. She'd learned that the way her body was tingling right now, the heavy, aching feeling between her legs, it all meant that she was _ready_ , that if he touched her now there was no question she'd see stars.

Her fingers slid over him, in awe of how smooth he felt, how delicate but also rigid. She swept her thumb over the tip, wetting it with moisture, before curling her fist around him.

He gasped against her mouth as she stroked him. "God," he choked. "I– the spell. I've no clue where my wand is," he moaned helplessly.

Laughing to cover her nerves, she paused to fumble for her wand, cursing herself for nearly forgetting. She held him in one hand and aimed her wand with the other, murmuring the charm. A magical sheath slid over him, glowing for only a moment before disappearing with a faint blue spark that let them know it was working properly.

" _Oh_." He caught his breath and gave a little laugh, clutching her arm for balance. "That bit feels way too good."

She giggled. "Guess they want people to actually use it." He grinned, pulling her forward again for a kiss.

"You sure?" he murmured.

She nodded, kissing him gently even while her fingers moved back to his cock and began stroking again.

"Put a– _oh._ Put a spell up."

She sighed, grabbing her wand again and aiming it at the door to lock it. "There's a dozen loos upstairs. No one's coming down here."

"You did," he managed, even as he hauled her robes up around her hips.

"Fine," she gasped. "It's locked. I need to– _God_." His fingers moved against her knickers, and Rose could have wept. "Here. Let me put my leg up." Her voice was shaking as she moved them into one of the stalls. She shoved her knickers down and put one foot up on the toilet seat. Not the most romantic place or pose, but she needed to _feel_ him, right now, to make sure he was still real. He pressed his fingers against her and gave a deep groan at how wet she was. The sparks were already beginning to fly through her body at his touch. She bit down on her lip and let him work one finger inside her.

 _Oh_ , Merlin, he felt good. His cheek was soft against hers, and she could feel his breath against her neck. He was coiled tight, his shoulders tense and his heart beating fast as he touched her. "Rose," he whispered, kissing the shell of her ear.

On impulse, she grasped his cock and let him fall on top of her, his fingers moving out of the way as she began to stroke herself with the head of his dick.

He buried his face against her neck. "Rose," he choked out. "Oh my God, so good. Can I– please–"

She nudged his head up to hold his gaze, then leaned in to kiss him softly. "Yeah," she murmured. "You can." With that, she guided him inside her, tilting her hips and letting him push up. His fists clenched at her robes, and her body burned for a second with the stretch, but she was – _God_ , she was soaking wet, and she could feel him slide right in.

It wasn't really fucking, she supposed – she was wet and he was hard, but they mostly just clung to each other as he rutted against her. He kept slipping out and couldn't establish a rhythm, but she didn't care. He was _here_ , he was beautiful, and he was gasping her name. "Rose," he breathed. "I'm sorry– please–" He slipped out again, and Rose reached down to grasp him as he kissed her, his thumbs sweeping over her cheeks.

She was getting close herself, her body aching and beginning to sizzle the way it did before she came. She used the head of his dick to stroke herself, pressing him against her in small circles. His breath was hot against her neck, and his fingers tightened in her hair. "God," she breathed. "Like that." She came with a gasp, sparks of pleasure radiating out from her core as her legs trembled. Immediately, he moved his hands down to cup her arse, holding her steady and laughing softly against her ear.

"Easy," he whispered. "God, you're amazing. You're killing me, though."

She grinned, stroking his cock once more before easing it back inside her. He felt incredible now that she'd come, his length absorbing the shudders still wracking her body. She let him thrust in deep, holding her up with his hands under her arse and his dick pressing up into her. He came only a few moments later, thrusting in hard and pulsing inside her. He slipped out again, though, and she laughed into his shoulder at the renewed burst of sensation through her body.

"Sorry," he moaned, his forehead resting on her shoulder. She stroked his hair and kissed the shell of his ear. "I've barely had a moment to myself to wank all holidays!" he muttered. "Family dinner this, yuletide horror that."

"Ugh, don't talk about your family while we're still half-naked."

"Sorry." He kissed her temple. His grin turned mischievous. "But I can talk about wanking?"

"It's not apparently possible to stop you, so, yes, you can."

"Brilliant. I knew there's a reason I love you."

She cuffed him on the arm but felt her face flush. "Can you reach your wand?"

"I– here." He fumbled for his wand, trying to clean them up but needing a few stumbled spells before he could do it. The magical sheath lifted off him and tied itself neatly before vanishing.

They fumbled to right themselves, Rose pulling her knickers up and letting her robes fall back to the floor, Scorpius buttoning his again, and trying not to bump into each other as they did so. The stall door swung open and hit her in the elbow; she winced, shaking her arm out, and nearly punched Scorpius in the stomach. Suddenly the lighting overhead was too bright, the paint on the walls too depressing, and she was exhausted, just so _tired_ of this. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

"Hey. Hey. What's wrong?"

"Everything's wrong," she moaned. "Look at us." She opened her eyes. "I'm tired. I want to go to bed with you. I want to have sex with you in a bed, and then go put pyjamas on and fall asleep. And wake up in the morning and maybe do it again."

He smiled sadly at her.

"And maybe make some tea and do a crossword in bed."

"You're pants at crosswords."

"Then you'd have to help me, wouldn't you? Except you're pants at them too – Ravenclaw, my arse – because you refuse to count the bloody letters before you start writing them in, so I'm always left with a puzzle that has a bunch of Rs and Es hanging off the edges." She laughed softly, nudging him with her shoulder.

"That's because every single time, I am absolutely convinced they are going to fit. I think you magic the squares down when I'm not looking." He smiled down at her, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead.

"I want a bed," she murmured. "That's it."

He dropped his eyes. "I know."

"That's my big secret desire."

"I know." He tried to wrap his arms around her, but she resisted.

"I'm shagging you in a _loo_ , like you're some prostitute."

He tilted his head to the side. "Why do I have to be the prostitute?"

"Because you're the pretty one."

"That's not true. You're the most beautiful thing in the world."

She rolled her eyes, but accepted his soft kiss. "I'm adequate," she allowed, "but no one's going to pay me for it. _You_ , on the other hand..."

"Really, you think I could get paid for sex?" He seemed to contemplate this. "I mean, that could solve all our money problems. We could have a flat and a bed in no time."

She sighed. "Don't think I haven't thought of it." She let her head fall to his shoulder as his arms came around her back. "But there's the whole moral conundrum to consider," she added. "Can I ever marry you if I've pimped you out? It gets very complicated."

"Mm, yes, I see your point." She felt him smile against her hair, rocking her gently in his arms. "We'll get a bed," he promised, his lips brushing her temple. "Someday soon. I promise. And I promise to get it with funds that have not been derived from prostitution."

"All right. I accept that promise."

"Hey." He tilted her chin up. "This year's going to be different. I can feel it."

"Yeah?" What the hell. She might as well take advantage of his optimism and let it infect her a little bit. She didn't believe it yet, but she wanted to. So much.

He kissed her. "Yeah."

***

By February, she had given up hope again. They were nearly two years out from their first kiss in that mud-crusted alley behind Madam Puddifoot's – Rose pressing butterbeer-sticky fingers up into Scorpius's hair and Scorpius trying to bypass snogging altogether and dive right for her breasts – but she still felt like they hadn't _gone_ anywhere. She didn't want to get married yet, and despite what she'd said at New Year's, she didn't really even care about living with him that much.

The bed, though, yes. That would still be nice.

It was more that she was tired of being _stuck_. If they _did_ want to live together, or if they ever _did_ want to get married... then what? She hated not knowing how to find an answer, or make a plan. She tried explaining that to him, but he didn't quite get it.

"A plan," he repeated, nudging his slipping glasses up his nose before settling his arm around her shoulders. A park bench on his lunch hour. See? _This_ was exactly the problem. "Like, steps to a successful seduction? You've already done that."

Even now, he never failed to make her blush when he teased her like that. She knocked her elbow into his arm playfully, letting her head fall to his shoulder. "A _plan_!"

"Well," he said after a moment, his fingers playing in her curly hair, "first I'm going to finish my apprenticeship in Mum's shop, and then you're going to finish Auror training–"

"Wait, why can't I be finished first?"

"Because you're a girl," he deadpanned.

She shrieked and pounded him with loose fists, climbing on top of him and pressing his wrists down until he called mercy. Laughing and panting, he reached up to kiss her nose.

"Because my shoddy program is only eighteen months, and yours is two years, you loon." His hands slid over her arse and she sagged against him, sighing, before climbing off again and glancing around warily at passers-by. "So you get six months of me making you dinner and rubbing your feet at the end of the day while I'm unemployed, and then you can support us with your astonishing Auror salary."

"Not sure it's that astonishing, actually. But I do like the foot rub idea."

"Well, then, you'll just have to kill your uncle and take over, yeah? Bet they spend their whole budget on him."

She smiled but shook her head. Not likely. Harry probably worked for free, come to think. The smile fading, she looked up at him. "A _plan_ , Scorp," she said quietly. "No dinners or foot rubs after my long days if we still live with our parents." He looked away, and she sighed. "Somehow, we have to tell them."

He didn't answer, so she nestled into his shoulder and let him pull her in close, resting his chin on the top of her head. She could feel his heart beating too quickly, though, and tried to blink her eyes dry. The very thought of bringing a Weasley home to meet his parents made him so nervous he could vomit; she knew that. She felt the same way most of the time.

For now, though, they had seventeen minutes left for lunch, so she curled up on the bench and tried to worm one arm into his coat to keep out the cold. He kissed the top of her head and just held her, the wind whistling through the gaps in the leafless trees.

***

By March, Rose had thrown herself headlong into her training, mostly as a means of avoiding the issue at hand. If Scorpius wasn't about to deal with it, then fine. Neither was she. Maybe it was just easier this way, at least for now.

She wished she really believed that.

"All right, well, thank you, Minerva. I appreciate your call. Yes, yes, I'll have Ron talk to him again."

Rose drifted past the living room, a cup of yogurt in one hand and a spoon in the other, as her mother rubbed her eyes and sighed at the fireplace.

"Oh. I see. So, it was all the way _in_ the piping when you found him? Are you sure it wasn't just a dare, boys being boys and all tha– Right. No, I know. It _is_ very expensive equipment, I remember. Yes. I'll talk to him. All right, good day." Mum rose to her feet, exhaling a short breath. She brightened at seeing Rose.

"I don't want to know, do I?"

Mum sighed. "Are you sure you haven't any friends who'd date your brother? Even just once?"

"Ew. _No_."

She raised her eyes skyward. "Why didn't Harry's boys turn out like this?"

Rose pressed her lips together, deciding it wasn't the right occasion to tell her mother about the time James had streaked through the Great Hall at dinner with a Slytherin sash tied to his balls and streaming between his legs, or the time Al had drawn a face on his penis, taken a photo of it and hung the framed result in every classroom one night. "No idea," she said instead. "But speaking of Harry..."

Mum eyed her warily as Rose scooped out the rest of her yogurt and popped the spoon in her mouth. "Do _not_ follow him."

"Why would you–"

"Because your mind works the same way mine does, Rose, and that's what I'd do." She allowed herself a fond smile even as Rose furrowed her brow. Bugger. "Leave him be. Ginny and Oliver are in town this week to see the kids, so he deserves to be a bit of a beast, if he's being one."

Yeah, that was an understatement. He sure was tense about something. But it was odd, because one minute he'd be wound up tight, and the next he'd be staring off into space, a disconcerting and rather goofy smile on his face. She didn't really care if there was anything to it, but Robards was being a beast himself about her Stealth results, so _maybe_...

Mum pointed her finger at her. "Don't do it."

Rose sighed. "Okay, okay. I won't."

***

The next day, she followed him.

It was a Thursday, so he left the Ministry early as usual. She'd done enough surveillance of his habits by then that she knew his path down to the smallest detail – including whether he looked left or right first when heading for the lifts. She made sure she was out of sight, then she followed at an appropriate distance, pausing outside only to point her wand quickly and have her robes melt into Muggle clothing.

Harry did the same thing a few blocks later.

The tube ride rather tested her skills more than she was ready for, but she managed it. When they emerged into the bustling rush hour crowds, Harry headed for... Rose craned her neck. Wow. One of the more expensive-looking hotels she'd ever seen. She nearly stumbled not to lose him when she looked down again and had a brief dizzy spell. He strode into the lobby with purpose, not stopping to talk to anyone, and headed for the lifts.

She knew the handbook: never follow into lifts. Sighing, she found a corner sofa and sank into it, using a plant for camouflage. She had a good view of the lifts from there but figured she herself was out of view.

Minutes passed. Damn, she should have brought a book. No, wait, that wasn't a good thing to do on surveillance duty. She tried to keep her mind sharp, even as a few minutes turned into thirty, then forty-five, then an hour. She sank back against the sofa and exhaled a petulant sigh. God. So boring.

She was still in the lobby, wondering how long to wait, when she spotted him emerging from one of the elegant lifts again. He hauled his shoulder bag up and glanced around before striding towards the glass front doors. Rose tamped down on her impulse to follow.

 _Wait_ , she told herself, her eyes on the lift. _Wait_.

It took longer than she would have thought, but then, Harry must have instructed his companion well. More than five minutes later, after Rose had ignored clusters of tourists and pairs of businessmen leaving the lift, the doors opened to reveal a well-dressed woman in a long, slinky skirt, designer boots, and a cropped leather jacket over a simple blouse. Her dark hair was loose and her lipstick had been applied just a bit too carefully. She lifted her sunglasses up into her hair as she made her way across the lobby, her eyes darting back and forth.

 _Merlin_. Rose let out a low breath. It was Pansy bloody Parkinson – Scorpius's makeshift aunt and partial boss at the potions shop. But what would Harry be doing meeting someone like her in a Muggle hotel like this, and why would he leave work early and not tell anyone where he was –

 _Oh_.

Good thing she could never tell her mother she'd followed him and therefore would never, ever have to tell her what she'd found out. She hesitated only a moment, trying to gather her scattered thoughts, before jumping to her feet, pulling the hood of her jacket up and following.

Five paces down the street, a hand reached out and grabbed her. Too startled to shout, she gasped sharply and turned.

Harry's eyes were blazing. "Failure, Auror Weasley. Your subject has detected your surveillance."

She dropped her gaze and shook her head, cursing herself.

But his concerns didn't seem to be with her skills. "I'm off limits for these exercises," he continued in a low voice, releasing his hold on her arm as he glanced down the street. "Who told you to follow me?"

"I'm sorry, I–"

"Who, Rose?"

"No one," she hastened to answer, breathless. "I did it myself. I'm sorry, sir." It occurred to her that she might be in less trouble if she tried to keep this professional rather than personal, considering what she was quite sure she'd just caught her uncle doing. "Robards thinks I'm pants at Stealth and Tracking, so I wanted some practice, outside the regular exercises. You're the best, so I thought, if I could follow you and not be detected, I'd be able to–"

"But you couldn't."

She sighed. "No, sir. It seems not."

He was quiet for a long moment, reaching up under his glasses to rub his eyes. "What time did I arrive here?"

Startled, she thought about it. "Seventeen fifty-two, sir."

He nodded. "And how long was I... upstairs?" He swallowed, but held her gaze.

Her mind flew through the math. "Seventy-eight minutes, sir."

He nodded again, although she couldn't tell if he was pleased or not that her answers were correct. "And what does that tell you?" He was starting to look a bit green, honestly.

"Long enough to hold a meeting, long enough to make more than one deal and probably more than two. Not long enough for a full meal with anyone who uses a salad fork or swirls brandy afterward–"

The corners of his mouth turned up.

"–and too long for an argument with your companion. Those are usually completed in under fifteen minutes, on average."

"Good," he said quietly. "So, your only weakness in Stealth and Tracking is that you stand out like a sore thumb in that jumper."

"Oh. Sorry." She pushed the hood back. "I thought the hood would be ace."

He shook his head. "Not even in a Muggle neighbourhood." He paused, the half-smile falling from his face. "One more question."

She had already anticipated what it would be and dreaded it. "Yes," she ventured, pushing forward at his expectant look. "I saw who you were with."

"I told her to wait far longer than was necessary before–"

"I know. I thought you might, so I waited longer, too."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, Rose."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. On impulse, she decided to press her luck. Glancing sideways at him, she murmured, "Not doing anything illegal, are you?"

He turned towards her, his mouth open.

"No one's asking you to do something you don't want to do?"

He stared at her for another second before barking a laugh. "No. Christ. On both counts. Just... getting a message from a friend." He squeezed his eyes shut. "That didn't come out right."

Rose laughed as well, trying to put him at ease. "A friend my mother doesn't know about, I'd wager. Or my father. Or my cousins. Or–"

"No," he cut in, shooting her a look. "No one knows about it." His mouth turned down, and he looked off down the street. "Can you imagine if they did?" he asked her softly.

God, absolutely not. She couldn't imagine. Pansy Parkinson was just as bad as a Malfoy, maybe worse. From what Rose had read, the woman had all but served Harry up to Voldemort himself during the war. What was he thinking? No, she didn't want an answer to that. Pansy Parkinson was beautiful, that much was clear, but honestly, was that all men wanted? "It'd be a nightmare," she agreed.

He looked lost all of a sudden, standing on the street corner with his hands shoved in his pockets and his face drawn. He gazed out at the traffic, his expression forlorn.

"I won't tell," she hastened to add. "I shouldn't have been following you. I'm really sorry."

He gave her a small smile. "You don't have to lie for me, Rosie. I can't ask that of you."

"I know. But still. It's not my business. And I owe you one." She took a deep breath. "You never asked me who I was messaging at New Year's, and I– I appreciate that."

He glanced over at her. "Do I need to have you followed?" he asked, deadpan.

She choked a laugh. "Please, please don't. I'm _so_ sorry."

He gave her a tight smile and seemed to relax a fraction. "Come on, Weasley. I'll buy you a slice of pizza for your trouble. And if it'd help bleach your eyes."

"You're on." She set off down the street after him. "It _was_ a business deal, right? Obviously?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Of course."

"And... she left home this morning with her blouse inside out, then?"

Groaning, he steered her around a corner. "Pepperoni or vegetarian? Your marks in Stealth and Tracking just went through the roof, you little brat."

***

**Summer ( _or, Harry has a problem_ )**

 

Harry ran the towel over his head again, scrubbing his hair nearly dry before transferring it to his hips. He shook one hand through his hair to try to smooth it down, and then grabbed his glasses from the counter and put them on. They fogged up almost immediately. Shaking his head at himself, he took them off again. Fuck it. He'd be able to see her.

The bathroom door was already ajar, but he pushed it open a bit more and peered into the main room. The bed was still a mess and beyond it he could see the wide glass doors to the balcony. Grey-blue clouds flitted by, making him feel as though the pair of them were the only people left in a room at the top of the world.

He liked the idea of that.

His fingers curled around the door of the bathroom, and he sank one hip against it as he watched her dress. She was a strange, contradictory sort of person. She liked everything in its place, especially where her appearance was concerned, but she also didn't really have the patience for getting it there. She'd stepped into her knickers again and pulled them up over her legs until the lacy edges hugged the curve of her arse, and her dark bra peeked out from the blouse she'd just donned. It fluttered open while she turned to the mirror, regarding her hair for a moment. Finally, with a half-smile, she settled on shaking it out and pushing it off her face, ignoring the brush sitting on the bureau. One quick slide of her index finger under each eye, and she had mostly gathered the stray black smears that had bled as she'd mashed her face into the pillows an hour ago, gasping and obeying Harry's command to spread her legs wider.

He closed his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath.

"Pervert."

Grinning, he glanced up at her again.

"Spying on me." She eyed him in the mirror as she fastened an earring.

"Parkinson," he drawled, lingering over the name. She'd gone back to it only after her second divorce; when he'd instinctively used it after spotting her in Diagon nearly a year ago, it was the first time he'd seen her in ages and couldn't help but revert back to the names of their school days. She'd stopped dead and turned, casting him a cool if curious look over her shoulder.

Twenty minutes later, her heel had bruised the back of his thigh as he'd hitched her leg up and buried himself inside her in a dark, Disillusioned corner near Knockturn.

"Potter," she said now, watching him closely as her lips tried to push down a sultry smile. She finished with the earring and turned to face him again, leaning back against the bureau. The swell of her arse where the dark wood surface pushed it up drew his eye, and he stepped towards her. Her eyes fell to his torso and then lower, making no attempt to hide her appraisal of his towel and everything she knew was underneath it.

"Maybe I'm not done with you yet." He stopped in front of her but didn't touch her.

"Insatiable." She lifted her chin. "Well, maybe I've had quite enough of _you_ for one night."

He paused. "Yeah?"

"More than enough." She wet her lips, shifting her shoulders so that her blouse fell open and further exposed her cleavage. He tried not to drop his gaze, but it was a fruitless effort. He took another step forward, crowding her against the bureau and letting his fingers tickle ever so lightly up her hip.

"Pansy," he breathed against her cheek.

"Potter." She grinned, turning just enough to let him kiss her. Her fingers were warm against his arm, moving up to his shoulder and then across his bare chest.

"Are you ever going to call me Harry?" His hand paused just over her arse, waiting.

She pulled back a bit. "God, no." She rolled her eyes. "The universe might explode if I did that."

"Might not." His fingers crept over the lace of her knickers.

She kissed him again, drawing his bottom lip between both of hers. "Might," she whispered.

He groaned, shoving his other hand in her hair and smoothing his stubbled jaw over her cheek. When his lips were close to her ear, he murmured, "Do I need to fuck it out of you?"

As expected, she drew in a sharp breath at that, her fingernails digging suddenly into his chest. "As if you could."

"Oh, I think I could." He breathed in the scent of her hair and bit lightly at her earlobe as his fingers continued their exploration under the lace of her pants. He gently began to nudge them down, his hand sliding under the elastic to cup her arse. His fingers reached towards her cleft, and she began to tremble against him. "I think I could do it, get you to call my name."

"Never."

"Get you to _scream_ my name."

"God, Potter, move your hand."

Her voice was already at that breaking point, that tone she reached when she was getting desperate. He slid his fingers around to the front of her thighs and nudged her knickers aside, snapping the lace over his first knuckle, but went no further. He could already feel her almost throbbing against the pads of his fingers, though. "Harry," he whispered. "Say it."

"Oh, you fucking bastard." She scratched her nails down his chest and tried to grind down against his hand. He held his fingers out of reach of where she wanted them. To add insult to injury, his other hand moved down from her hair to her breasts, pushing her blouse aside to drag one thumb lazily over her nipple. Wetness seeped towards his fingers even where he still held them to the side with her knickers. Fuck, she must be _drenched_. His prick began to ache as it nudged at the towel. Christ, she made him feel like a teenager again. He couldn't remember wanting anyone, not even Ginny at the height of their relationship, as consistently and desperately as he wanted – needed, _craved_ – Pansy.

"Say it."

"No," she gasped, pushing her chest forward.

"You know what you'll get if you do."

"Don't... ah... want it. Not from you."

" _Pansy_ ," he whispered again, his nose close to her cheek. "Don't lie to me." He moved his fingers slightly to remind her what she was missing, and a groan tore from her throat. He pulled her bra down and brushed his thumb over her nipple again, pressing it hard to one side and then dragging the hint of his nail across it.

With a strangled noise, she launched herself at him, kissing him breathless. "Harry," she gasped into his mouth. "Fuck, _please_."

Oh, God. In the next breath, he shoved two fingers deep inside her, clutching her to him with his other hand firm around her back. "Again," he begged, his fingers soaked and her pulse throbbing over them.

"Harry," she whispered, nearly sobbing. "You fucking bastard. I can't– God, _harder_. Fuck, harder."

He pulled his hand out and swept three fingers hard over her clit, broad circles in a steady rhythm. She was already beginning to clamp down.

"Oh. _Oh_. Fuck. God, yes."

She came in seconds, convulsing around him and soaking his hand. "Pans," he panted, "fuck." He pulled his hand free as she ripped his towel off. Pushing her back towards the bed, he crawled on top of her, tugged her knickers the rest of the way down and pressed her to the mattress. He shoved his dick inside her hard and fast.

She arched her back and her mouth fell open with a gorgeous little gasp. God, she was still clenching, wet pulses covering his dick as he thrust into her. He could never get enough of this, never stop wanting her day and night, every part of her.

"Say it," he murmured, his mouth over her neck, and she gasped out a little laugh.

"I've said it!"

" _Again_."

She moaned as he pushed in hard, her hands grabbing at his arse to pull him deeper. She raised one knee up and he slid in even further. "Fuck it out of me," she whispered.

Christ, that did it. He raised himself up on his palms and drove in hard, relishing the way she met him at each thrust, her make-up smeared again and her hair a mess against the bedspread. She looked debauched and carefree and utterly beautiful. "Say it."

"Harder."

"My name, Pansy," he choked out. "Please."

"Not till you do it harder."

With a tortured laugh, he let himself go, slamming into her. His orgasm ripped through him, and he pressed in hard until she was flush against him, holding him inside with her hands at his arse. His dick pulsed hard, come filling her and the white heat of it racing up his spine. He panted over top of her, dizzy and floating, moving his hips in tiny circles and making her moan with him.

His arms finally gave out and he lowered himself, her breasts brushing over his chest as he kissed her neck and jaw, moving gently towards her mouth. She smiled against his lips, returning the kiss even as he continued to pulse slowly inside her. "Harry," she breathed, closing her eyes and moving one hand up to sweep over his cheek and into his hair.

With one last, satisfied moan, he rolled to the side and pulled her with him, holding her close. "Thank you."

She was quiet for a moment, stroking his back, before he heard her mutter, "Well, you did make good on your promise."

He lifted his head to find her smiling impishly at him, and he kissed her again, laughing against her mouth. "Take this off," he murmured, still nipping at her mouth as he pushed her twisted blouse the rest of the way off and pulled her forward to unhook her bra. She threw the items back over the side of the bed and collapsed with him, pulling the covers up.

"Positively domestic," she muttered, but she allowed him to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her in close, her back warm against his chest.

Her breathing evened out, and since she seemed content to stay where she was – not always a common occurrence; sometimes she was out the door before he'd got out of the shower – he stayed as still and quiet as he could. This was nice. He could get used to this. It had been five years now since the divorce, and everyone he knew seemed to have mutually agreed that it was long past time he started dating again. Meanwhile, he'd managed – all on his own, in utter secret – to start shagging the girl who had endlessly taunted him at school.

And considering that the last time he'd fallen in love, it had been a slow, somewhat rocky courtship followed only years later by some vigorous sex, he was relatively surprised to find that this time, it was all going in reverse. Yet the thought of making it anyone's business but theirs, of opening it up to scrutiny and judgement, made him shudder.

Ron and Hermione would never forgive him. Ginny, Christ, she'd probably try to get the kids to spend far more time in Scotland with her and Oliver than in London with their dad and his... what would she call Pansy? Hussy. Slytherin slag, maybe, if she was feeling charitable. Viper woman. Was she worth it, to lose his family and friends?

Not to mention _Rose_. Jesus. He winced at the memory. It had been a couple of months since that horrifying episode, and as far as he could tell, she'd been true to her word and not told anyone what she knew, but even she was judging him; he knew it. She'd been different with him since then, watching him when she thought he couldn't tell; always looking like she'd like to tell him what she really thought of it all whenever they spoke at work. She'd open her mouth and take a breath, but as soon as he gave her an expectant look, she'd lose her nerve and slink away. He hated that he'd made her distrust him like that.

He ran his hand up and down Pansy's arm soothingly, nestled in behind her in a show of intimacy he never would have dreamed himself capable of with this woman. She was rumpled and smelled of him, her skin shining and her breathing deep and even. Against his better judgement, he glanced over at the clock on the wall and winced. Nearly eight. Before he could worry about being late getting home, an idea struck him.

"Hey," he murmured in her ear. She rustled in his arms but didn't turn yet.

"Mm. Quiet. Sleeping." She yawned. "Shagged into a coma."

He grinned, biting lightly at her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Don't get a complex." She turned a fraction then, one corner of her mouth curling up.

"Hungry?"

"Ravenous."

"Why don't we stay here tonight?" He held his breath when she didn't respond right away. He'd never actually fallen asleep and woken up with her, not once in all this time. For awhile, he wasn't sure he even wanted that, not with a woman like her, but something had changed recently. He wanted all kinds of things with her now that he hadn't before, and most of them had to do with things beyond sex – things like waking up together, or reading the newspaper, or just talking over coffee. It was a bit unsettling, but he figured he might as well go for it. The worst she could say was no.

"What do you mean?"

She knew exactly what he meant, the minx, and so he tightened his arms around her and nudged his hips forward. "I mean," he murmured, "that I'll run out for takeaway, or hell, this place is nice; we'll get them to send something up. And then I'll turn you over and shag you again, on your hands and knees this time."

She tilted her head back, arching against him as her lips parted silently.

"And then we'll fall asleep, and the sun will set outside the window, and I'll likely put you off me forever by snoring all over you–"

She tried to hide a smile.

"–and then we'll wake up, and we'll try not to kiss with bad breath but – for my part, at least – I won't really care about that, and then we can shower together, and have breakfast, and, I don't know. Go about our days grinning like fools."

"Sounds boring as hell. Why would I want any of that?" She tried for her trademark sarcasm, but it didn't carry. She was glancing back over her shoulder at him now, smiling almost... _shyly_.

His fingers drifted down over her bare thigh. "Oh, I don't know. A bloke can always dream, can't he?"

"I suppose." She nestled back against him. "So why not get away from this racket next door and go back to yours for all that?"

He didn't answer right away. She must have known he wouldn't. Dammit. She stiffened in his arms at the lack of reply. "The boys are there," he said at last, cursing himself. "You know that."

"They're not twelve." She shifted away from him, rolling onto her back. "They can know their father has sex sometimes without traumatising them."

"I– yeah. I know. It's just–"

"And anyway, wouldn't they worry more if you just didn't come home?"

"No." He took a deep breath. "I'll owl them. Tell them I have to work. It's happened before."

"Ah." She turned away from him.

"Pansy."

Pushing herself up with exaggerated effort, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, padding across the room naked and beautiful. She didn't bother with the enticing reverse-striptease this time. Grabbing her wand from the bureau, she muttered a spell and let her clothes fly to her, snapping and buttoning themselves into place in seconds.

"No. No, you don't." Harry sat up, rubbing his face. "You are not walking away from me. Pansy, _please_. Talk to me."

" _Talk_? Is that what we do now?" She forced a laugh. "Don't embarrass yourself, Potter. You were good for a fuck. I was good for a fuck. We're done. Go home." She turned on her heel again and headed for the door.

"I'm more than that to you. You know I am." He took a deep breath, ready to bare it all if it would keep her from walking away. "You're far more than that to me," he added quietly. She stopped, her palm pressed against the door.

"We meet in hotel rooms and we fuck, Potter," she muttered, not looking at him. "You won't acknowledge me anywhere else, not even in my own fucking shop. Merlin forbid your children ever find out about me, or your precious Gryffindor friends. How on earth can you sit there and tell me I mean anything to you?"

Her words slammed into him. "I– what? I thought– it was you who wouldn't tell anyone, insisted on the hotels and ignoring each other, and–"

"Was it?" In profile, her head bowed and her fingers clenching and unclenching around the doorknob, she looked small and vulnerable.

"You're the one who refuses to tell Daphne," he shot back. This was _not_ entirely his fault.

"She can see my front door from her living room window! Don't tell me you actually want her to call the _Prophet_ as you do the walk of shame from the Greengrass family guesthouse in the mornings. She'd set the fucking dogs on you."

"Yeah, and _I'm_ the one who won't tell my 'Gryffindor' friends and 'Gryffindor' children," he muttered. "So bloody worried about what the Malfoys and Greengrasses and Zabinis of the world will think," he added. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, though, he pressed his lips together. Bugger.

She fell silent.

"No, okay, I didn't mean that." He sat cross-legged under the covers, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He refused to stand up and have this argument with her naked. "I didn't–"

"I'll give you Malfoys and Greengrasses," she said at last, her hand still twitching over the doorknob, "but don't you dare talk to me about Blaise."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just–"

"Don't you _dare_ ," she continued, pointing a shaking finger at him, "suggest that after seven years of freedom, I still give a fuck what that bastard thinks of me. I've had more than enough men in my life drop by when it's convenient to fuck me, and then think that gives them the right to tell me how I should feel about it, or who I should tell about it, or how often I should let them do it again."

Harry winced.

"Jean-Marc wanted a trophy wife." Her voice was low with anger. "Blaise wanted a toy. How about you, Potter? What do you want from me?"

He shook his head. "I'm not them. I just want you."

She stared at him for a moment, as if wanting to believe him, but then she forced a laugh. "You just want the opposite of your ex-wife," she spat. "The bad girl. From the other side. The one in the forbidden green robes twenty-five fucking years ago. Spare me." She dug in her bag for a cigarette, coming back with one clenched in her fist.

"I just want _you_ ," he repeated quietly.

"I know."

He looked up.

"But you don't get to have just me, not anymore. Come back when you're ready to take everything that comes _with_ me. And everyone," she added.

"Pans–"

But the door slammed closed behind her. Harry sat in the cooling bed a long time, the shadows creeping up the walls.

***

"Honestly, Harry, I'm at my wit's end with that boy."

"Christ, what's he done now?"

"What hasn't he done? Old McGonagall Floos Hermione every other day with something or other! Last week he dared his Herbology partner to charm a tentacle around his bits. The other day it was a toy broomstick shoved up his–"

"Oi. Seriously?" Harry winced, gesturing at the waitress to bring Ron a fresh beer. "Better than a real one, I guess?"

"It's not funny!"

"No, I know."

"Why weren't your boys nutters like this?"

Harry considered it, taking a sip. "Well, either they started having sex earlier than Hugo, or they did do all that stuff and were just better at not getting caught."

Ron seemed to brighten at that. "Oh! That's a good point. Do you think they'd talk to him?" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know how many more times I can give him the talk about the banana and the doughnut."

"It's one of your better talks," agreed Harry.

"I know! So why is he still trying to get off with vegetables or bollocks-eating plants?"

"Don't know, mate. Sorry. Maybe George can talk to him, tell him about the perils of some of that stuff? He must've tested everything under the sun on himself by now."

"Yeah, might do. George is busy with another brilliant idea lately, though – he's trying to come up with something that'll interact with the smoke that comes from that ventilation system at the back of the Malfoys' shop. Get the health inspector in there, and boom! They'll be closed down in no time." Ron drained his beer and leaned forward across the sticky table, his face alight.

Harry sat back in his chair, trying not to grimace. "You can't put them out of business," he said wearily. "It's legitimate. I already looked into it. Turns out Malfoy's wife really does have a Potions mastery." He shook his head. He hadn't been able to figure out quite how she'd done it, but it didn't seem to be forged. Well, if Pansy had proven to him that Slytherin books couldn't always be judged by their covers, he supposed that could extend to Astoria Malfoy, too, with her apparently secret genius at potions masked by her aptitude for throwing society balls and shopping for new shoes.

"No way." Ron took another swig. "She must've been doing her kid's homework all that time, then. Remember how Rosie used to get so worked up over that Malfoy kid?" He laughed. "Letters every other week about how that little bastard had beat her in potions again. Made her nuts. God, she's like a miniature Hermione sometimes, isn't she?"

He grinned as he spoke, and Harry couldn't help but join him. She definitely had a good deal of her mother in her, but that girl could also be just as mischievous as her dad and uncles; that much Harry had learned.

"She must've figured he wasn't worth it, though, because I haven't heard her mention him in ages." Ron shrugged. "Good riddance. Except now that family's stealing _Wheezes_ business by telling our customers they don't need a joke to make their day better; they need a fucking Calming Draught."

Harry lifted a shoulder. "We did kind of need a potions shop in Diagon," he ventured. Christ. This was awkward.

Pansy had agreed to go in half with Astoria the year before in opening the shop, using her settlement money from her last divorce to do it. It had meant living in Daphne's bloody guesthouse while the shop got off the ground, but the way business was going, it looked like she might be back on her feet sooner rather than later. When they'd first started meeting regularly, Harry had been convinced that she only bothered with him because she liked the lavish hotel rooms he booked, that they reminded her of her old life in her father's manor. She'd admitted as such, actually; that wasn't a secret. But it had taken more than that to keep her coming back for so long.

And... that was a train of thought for another day, he reminded himself as he shifted in his chair, images of her crashing through his mind. She still wasn't even speaking to him; no sense getting all hot and bothered by memories of her spread out like some x-rated fallen angel on one of the hotel's immaculate king-sized beds.

"No, we bloody well don't need one. Not one that the Malfoys are running, at least. And Parkinson!" He laughed again, hiccupping into his pint glass. "Have you seen her lately? I don't know if they put her at the counter just to look good and bring in business, or if she's actually got some qualifications, but Christ, it's tough to get blokes in to buy jokes for their kids when they have to pass by Parkinson in those tight blouses first."

Harry held himself very still.

"Bloody Slytherins," Ron concluded, draining his glass. "They'd still stab you in the back with the knife you lent them yourself, if you let 'em, eh?" He shook his head, grinning, and Harry saw the spark in his eyes as the dartboard caught his attention.

He tried to nod and laugh with Ron, but his stomach felt leaden. Bloody Slytherins, yeah. He couldn't summon the old rivalry, though, the old hatred. Still, getting involved with one of them had been the worst idea he'd had in a long damn time.

***

This was really getting ridiculous. It was July, and it was hot as fuck in Diagon Alley, with its close streets and high shop fronts not letting in even a whimper of a breeze. By the third time Harry passed in front of the shop and Pansy still hadn't looked up from her magazine, Harry had nearly had enough. He should just shove the door open and go inside, confront her about this whole stupid thing. Snog her in the middle of the shop, if it would convince her that he wasn't embarrassed by her, it wasn't that, it was...

What was it?

Pushing one hand through his hair, he exhaled a short breath. _Fuck_. Maybe it was that. Maybe she was right, and he was a complete arsehole. Maybe he really _wasn't_ any better than her ex-husbands, treating her like a convenient piece of arse to fuck and throw away. The possibility of her thinking that about him made him physically ache.

Just as he made to pass in front of the shop one more time, though, she finally looked up. The look she gave him was so hateful, she might as well have punched him in the stomach.

"Fuck. Off."

He couldn't hear the words, but the shape of her ruby lips around them was more than enough. Still, he couldn't give up this easily. He headed to the door, determined to push it open at last, when Astoria appeared at Pansy's elbow, pointing at something in the magazine.

Harry obeyed his first instinct, even though he hated himself for it later: he ducked to the side of the shop and down an alley before Astoria could see him.

Great. Fabulous. A real hero. He sagged against a building wall for a moment, berating himself, and then turned to slam his palm against it. _Fuck_. It was never supposed to be like this. Where had all his bloody courage gone, that he couldn't even face the thought of openly proclaiming that Pansy was his, that he was the one who got to be with someone as beautiful and clever as her, that...

He _was_ ashamed of her. He had to be, or the thought of telling his friends, his _children_ about her, wouldn't fill him with such dread. The kids, Christ, they didn't even have the same associations as Ron and Hermione did, and he was certain they were ready for him to date again. Ginny was already remarried, for God's sake. They wouldn't care about the name _Pansy Parkinson_. He had to get over –

He stilled. What was that?

His instincts kicking in, he swung his brain away from thoughts of Pansy and felt his senses prick up. There, down the alley. Someone was Disillusioned; he could feel the trickle of lazy magic. Not a very good Disillusionment, then. Anyone using a charm like that in Diagon Alley was either planning to rob a shop or pick a pocket. Or sneak up on an Auror unawares while he prattled to himself about his woman problems. Christ.

He drew his wand silently and glanced around, his back pressed to the wall. The pull of magic was evident just a few paces down, around another corner of the deserted alley. He crept towards it, now feeling the Muffliato wash over him too. Sight _and_ sound; that was a bit unusual. Wordlessly, he cast the spell to reveal the magic in the alley, a version of _Finite_ that the perpetrators wouldn't be able to feel unless they were trained Aurors.

An image shimmered in front of him, still several paces down, and Harry blinked. Oh. Well, that would teach him to mind his own business.

Rose was pressed against the wall, grinning and trading lazy kisses with a... well, with a rather fit young man. His fingers were light at her jaw, and he was smiling against her mouth.

"I have to get back," he was murmuring. "Mum'll have my balls. She's really, mm–" he nipped in for another kiss – "taking this apprentice thing a bit too seriously lately. Someone must have tipped off the Regulations agency about all the nepotism she engages in."

He turned a bit in Rose's arms as she smiled at him, and Harry blinked as the pieces came together. Dear God. It was Malfoy's bloody son. Oh, _Rose_.

Right on cue, she turned her head sharply, pushing him away a bit while still keeping her fists clutched in the front of his robe.

"What are you–"

"Shh." Her eyes darted around the alley, and she went for her wand.

Pushing down his slight swell of pride at her skills, Harry sighed. " _Finite Incantatem_ ," he muttered before she could, revealing himself and pushing one hand through his hair. "Sorry. Felt the magic down here and thought it was, ah–" he twirled his hand, looking away – "a crime in progress."

They both blinked at him with wide eyes, frozen in what appeared to be acute panic. Rose's hand gripped her wand so tightly he feared she might snap it in two.

"I–" she began before pressing her lips together. "Harry. Don't–" she stopped again, shaking her head. "Oh no. Oh God." Her breath came in deep, panicked gulps, and she covered her face with her hands. "Oh no," she kept repeating. "No. _No_."

"No, listen," Harry tried, stepping forward with his hands raised. "I'm not..." But he trailed off, unsure of what to say. What a mess.

The Malfoy kid wrapped his arms around her protectively, and she buried her face in his shoulder. He looked about ready to vomit, but he faced Harry head on as he seemed to be trying to decide which variant to go with: _Please don't tell my father_ , or _Fuck you, we don't care what anyone thinks_. "I– Mr Potter," he ventured, swallowing hard. "It's not what it– I mean, it is, but–"

"Okay, both of you calm down," said Harry. "I'm not arresting you, I'm not telling anyone, at least not right this second, and I'm not going to shout at you. Okay?"

They both blinked at him for another moment before taking deep breaths and nodding. Rose's grip on her wand relaxed a fraction.

"Scorpius." He tried out the name. What a mouthful. Bet his prat of a father thought that one up. "Back to the shop."

His grip on Rose's shoulder tightened, and he looked between Harry and Rose. "No, I–"

"She'll be fine," said Harry shortly. "I need a word with my niece, son."

"It's okay," Rose said to him quietly, turning away from Harry. "He can't send me to a nunnery or anything." She reached up to kiss him on the cheek, but she still looked a bit pale. She glanced at Harry. "Can you?"

"I probably could, if I wanted to invoke some ancient wizarding laws." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But I don't think I will, no."

Scorpius looked relieved – so, not a big sense of humour on that one – and he edged away from Rose.

"Go on." Harry nodded down the alley. "She'll be in touch."

Scorpius eyed him as though that were the most transparent lie ever told, but with one more squeeze of Rose's arm, he strode back towards the shop. Rose watched him go, still not turning back to Harry even after he'd disappeared around the corner.

Harry tried to wait out the silence, but it was excruciating. _Rose_ , fuck, what was she doing? He stuck his hands in his pockets and came back with a stray box of Pansy's cigarettes. He almost laughed. He'd grabbed them from her as a joke the week before, threatening to withhold sex if she didn't quit. She'd retorted that if she did that, she wouldn't be able to blow magical smoke rings around his cock, now would she?

Four minutes later, with the rings tightening and stroking with every wisp of her breath, she had very much won the argument on that one.

He pulled one out of the pack and waved his hand at it, inhaling deeply as it caught light. That got Rose's attention. She raised an eyebrow at him, and Harry suddenly saw Hermione at that age, knowing and judging.

"You don't smoke," she said, watching him.

He took another drag.

She folded her arms over her chest and glared. "I know where you picked _that_ up."

"I bet you do."

"So, if you don't keep my secret, why should I keep yours?" She held her head up and tried to keep her voice steady, but it didn't quite work. "Go on, tell my parents! See if I care. I'll just go tell them who _you're_ shagging! Scorpius'll seem like a saint next to that–"

"Don't finish that sentence," he said quietly. "And don't shout at me."

She fell silent, mashing her lips together.

He exhaled, appraising her. "Now," he continued, "I'll only say this once. Don't ever try to blackmail me again."

Her face fell, and she stared at the ground. "I–"

"Not ever." He pointed the cigarette at her, clamped between his first two fingers.

"You _are_ going to tell them, though, aren't you?" She sounded close to tears.

"I don't know yet," he lied. How could he? Stones, glass houses. Christ. There wasn't really a parenting manual that covered this sort of thing. "How long has this been going on?"

She swallowed. "Since seventh year."

He blinked. At least two years? He'd thought maybe a few days or weeks. A summer fling. "What? How have you kept it a secret for so long?" His brain caught up. The New Year's coin. _Christ_. And Robards had seriously meant to fail her at Stealth and Tracking?

She glared at him. "How have _you_?"

"This isn't about me," he said reflexively. _I don't live with my parents_ , he didn't add.

"It's horrible, all right? I'm happy and in love and he's _amazing_ , Harry, you've no idea." Her face softened. "And I can't even tell my mum about him. She'd love him," she added, pressing her lips together. "The way his mind works, and how he scratches little notes to himself while he's working, and then looks things up later..." She swallowed a laugh, her eyes far away. "If his last name was _anything_ else..."

Sighing, Harry leaned back against the brick wall. He took another drag and exhaled, trying to let the smoke calm him the way Pansy insisted it did. He glanced to the side and saw Rose mirroring his pose against the wall, eyeing the fag. He nudged her gently with his shoulder and offered it.

With a faint smile, she took it and brought it to her lips with trembling fingers. She inhaled smoothly, though, and Harry cocked his head to the side as he watched her.

She blew out a thin stream of smoke, passing it back to him. "What?" Now her face was pure Ron at his most innocently mischievous, her freckles shining in the low light. "I didn't grow up in a cave, you know."

He laughed, deep and sudden, before hanging his head low and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "What are we going to do about all this, you and I?" He gestured between them. She looked devastated, staring out across the alley.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"Does he treat you well?" He glanced sideways at her, his heart aching for her parents. They would want to know about this, if only just to share with her that flushed joy of first love. If it were Lily, he'd damn well want to know.

Her eyes welled up as she looked at him, nodding. "He loves me, Uncle Harry."

"Oh, Rose." He nearly teared up himself at that; since they'd been working together, she'd mostly dropped the _uncle_ part. "You've got to tell them. They'll understand, they'll be happy for you."

She shot him a cynical look. "Right. That's why you've been so quick to tell them about Pansy Parkinson, I suppose."

"That's different."

"No, it isn't."

There she went again, glaring up at him with Hermione's eyes and Hermione's pursed lips. "Scorpius has the misfortune of being Malfoy's kid," he tried, "but he isn't Malfoy himself. Your mum and dad will see that. Pansy..." He paused to take another drag. "She's like Malfoy himself. This isn't coming out right."

She gave him a faint smile that quickly faded. "You haven't heard the things they say about Malfoys," murmured Rose. "They _still_ say them, even after this long."

Yeah, they did. He used to do the same, trashing the Malfoys and their circle at every opportunity. It was so easy just to keep those schoolyard grudges, even so many years later. George's hurt was still the worst, but Ron tended to pick up on it with all the time they spent together. Hermione knew better, Harry had to believe she did; it was impossible to work at the Ministry these days and not encounter people of every background, and bloody hell, _she'd_ always been the one urging him and Ron to open their minds. But things happened in that war that she still never talked about, and they happened in Malfoy's bloody house. Harry had found years ago that he didn't have it in him to keep the old rivalries going, though. Meeting a grown-up Pansy and realising how much things had changed only cemented his willingness to move on. He just didn't know if his friends were ready to join him in believing that.

He was quiet for a moment, and she reached for the fag again. When she passed it back, exhaling a stream of smoke, she glanced at him. "Does she treat you well?"

He turned to look at her. Jesus. Of all the inappropriate conversations. "I– well, she's not speaking to me at present, so I don't know." He huffed a laugh. "I guess not."

Rose only narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

She grabbed the fag and withheld it. He sighed.

"I tried to keep her a secret," he said quietly, letting his head fall back against the wall, "and I guess she took that to mean I'm ashamed of her."

Rose's face softened, and she handed the cigarette back. He took it gratefully and stuck it between his lips.

He glanced down at her. "Do you ever think that?"

She was quiet for a moment but then nodded, fiddling with the hem of her jacket. "Yeah. I figure his parents will start fixing him up with heiresses soon, and he'll realise it's not worth the effort to go against them and fight for a _Weasley_." She twirled her hand vaguely in front of her body.

She looked close to tears again, so he lifted his arm until she moved towards him and snuggled under it, and he pulled her in close. "If he doesn't fight for you, he's a damn fool."

She swallowed down a sob and turned her face into his shoulder. Flicking the last of the fag away, he wrapped his arms around her and held her, letting her cry and cry into the sleeve of his jacket, his own advice echoing in his ears.

***

**Fall ( _or, Scorpius gets paid_ )**

 

"Quit hovering, Mother."

"I'm not _hovering_ , darling, I'm counting, and if you would remember to switch to counter-clockwise on the third rotation every other time, I wouldn't need to stand here counting for you."

"It's every third time." Scorpius glanced down at the bubbling, bluish mixture, suddenly uncertain. Bollocks.

"What?"

"It's counter-clockwise on the third rotation every third time." He glanced up. "Isn't it?"

His mother gave him a pitying look. "Darling, listen to yourself. That doesn't even make sense." She ruffled his hair. "Throw it out and start over," she called as she headed for the door.

"What? It takes thirty days! I'm nearly done."

He clamped his mouth shut at the look she shot him. Sliding her reading glasses down with her index finger hooked around the frame, she peered at him over the top. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Starting over." He turned the heat down and Vanished the contents of the cauldron, cursing under his breath.

"Perhaps you'd rather take your apprenticeship with Master Perrauld in Marseilles?" she taunted. He knew better by now than to argue when she got on this train of thought. "Perhaps you'd like to be scrubbing cauldrons from morning till night for your first two years, and _then_ , maybe, if you're one of the lucky twelve out of a hundred, you might get to chop ingredients for another eight months, and _then_ , if he deems you worthy, you might–"

"I get it," muttered Scorpius. "I'm very lucky to have you, Mother."

She lifted her chin. "You might want to say that like you mean it."

"I mean it!" He sighed, leaning his hip against the counter. "You might tell me something positive now and then, you know."

Her mouth quirked. "Malfoys shouldn't have confidence problems. Not with skills like yours."

He glanced up. "Really?"

"Really." She placed her hands on her hips, appraising him. "We have a lot of money invested in this shop. Enough that–"

"–I'm living in your aunt's fucking guesthouse," a voice hollered from the floor of the shop.

Scorpius grinned. "So, enough that you probably should have put Mum right to work as the master rather than taking on an apprentice," he called back, tilting his head to wait for an answer.

"Damn right!"

He laughed, and even his mother smiled. "Enough that it should go without saying," she continued, loud enough to carry back to Pansy, "that if we didn't have full confidence in your skills, you wouldn't be here. All right?"

He smiled, dropping his eyes. "All right. Thank you, Mother." He let her kiss him on the cheek.

"It also means don't fuck it up," added Pansy.

"God, what's up your arse today?" Scorpius called back.

"She's been horribly shirty lately," said Mum in a low voice, shaking her head. "Don't provoke her."

"I can fucking hear you!"

"Quit bitching and bring me some customers," called Mum.

"Quit stroking the boy's ego and get him to put out some product!"

"Tell her to quit making me throw out thirty days' work!"

"Quit ruining thirty days' work, and I won't make you throw it out!"

"Ugh, I hate you both."

"No you don't, darling. Now go chop some more bicorn horn, and not so jagged this time. You could stab a newt with the pieces in that last batch."

***

Ever since he was a little kid, Scorpius had loved his father's study.

It had been his grandfather's, really; his father himself had never been terribly studious about anything, but the room was panelled in oak and smelled of leather-bound books, and it made Scorpius's heart beat a little bit faster just to be in there. It had become something of a refuge for him over the years, since Grandfather wasn't around much anymore and Father, well, see above about the firm lack of studiousness.

 _Ravenclaw_ , he still remembered his father muttering as the house-elves cleared the dishes at his first, allegedly celebratory dinner at home after his first term at Hogwarts. _Merlin help us_.

 _Well_ , his mother had laughed, nursing her wine, _better than Gryffindor. Can you imagine, Scorpius in there with all those Potter and Weasley children?_

Father had smirked at that, toasting Scorpius over dessert. _To Ravenclaw!_ he'd said. _You will do great things there, son_.

Yeah. Pretty great. The greatest yet had been getting so incensed that one of those – gasp! – _Weasley children_ had beat him to the top of the class in potions; becoming obsessed with figuring out how she did it; following her when she sneaked into the classroom to practice at night; summoning the courage to ask her if she wanted to just sod the competition between them and work together on it or if that would offend her Gryffindor sensibilities; trying to control the little flip his stomach had done when she'd smiled at him and nodded, agreeing that her Gryffindor sensibilities could probably be put to better use elsewhere; finally working up the nerve to ask her to Hogsmeade eight months later; feeling his universe explode in colour when he kissed her, and –

– watching it fade to crumbling dust around his feet as he simultaneously fell in love with her and realised he could never tell anyone about it. Well, that part hadn't been so great.

"If you're looking for the plum brandy, Pansy drank the open bottle _and_ all the reserves at your mother's bridge party at the end of July."

Scorpius looked up at his father, grinning as he placed the little figurine he'd been fiddling with back in its place on the mantel. "Damn. And I'm a Malfoy, too. How am I meant to go to work sober?"

Father dropped into one of the overstuffed armchairs. "Tragic, I know. Your grandfather would be appalled."

Scorpius hopped onto the desk and swung his legs. "Maybe I can raid Pansy's purse when I get there. Surely she's got some sample-size bottles of vodka in there somewhere."

"She does, but be careful; she keeps them well counted and might have your bollocks if she thinks you're into her stash."

Scorpius sighed. "You know that from experience?"

"Oh yes." Father gave him a knowing look. "Don't steal that woman's alcohol, cigarettes or lovers. That much I've learned over the years."

"Did _not_ want to know that."

"Speaking of which–" Wow, Father's ability to just forge right on in the middle of any kind of awkwardness whatsoever really was legendary – "I've been getting inquiries about you."

"Because of my alcoholism and smoking?" He tried to stall for time. Bollocks.

Father gave him a tight smile. "Because of your good looks, your even better brains, and the fact that you aren't known for – or, at least, haven't been caught publicly yet–" he counted off on his fingers – "naked horseback riding through the Ministry lobby, treatment for venereal disease, being sacked for stealing hallucinogens, or having a record for domestic abuse, like all the other pureblood men in your general age range."

"I've been trying, Father, honest." He shook his head sadly. "I _do_ so want to fit in with the others."

"I know, son." Father grinned, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs. The smile faded. "So. What will it be?"

"What?"

"Here's the part where I'm a better father than mine was, while still adhering to enough pureblood traditions that your grandfather will give me a disapproving look but won't actually be able to argue the point. We have the _entering society_ option, whereby I fix you up with reputable young women – or not so reputable, if you catch my meaning, although that puts a damper on my attempt to be a better father than my own, and no, I am not telling that story, so don't ask. Now. You have a few dinners, go to a few galas or something, and decide if you can stand to marry one."

Scorpius's stomach churned.

"Or, you tell me you've already got a fine young lady lined up, and I silently thank Merlin and leave you to it."

A flare of hope. "Those are my options?"

Father sat forward, regarding him. "Yes."

"Oh." Scorpius stared at the polished floor, trying to find courage there.

"Unless... we should be having a different conversation altogether."

Scorpius glanced up at his father's surprisingly gentle tone.

"Your mother," he continued quietly, "has her suspicions that you've been sneaking around with Albus Potter. I like to think I would have noticed earlier, if that was the issue, but–" he lifted a shoulder – "I've been wrong before. Rare, but it happens." He gave Scorpius an expectant look.

"I– what?"

"You've been remarkably reticent – if not completely panicked – whenever anyone asks you where you've been lately. Now look." He rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together, as Scorpius tried to keep his eyeballs in his head. "You've got eyes, and it's not like those Potter boys have boils growing out of their ears. They're fit, they're famous, I'm sure they're so polite you want to vomit–" he shook his head – "but it would make Christmases dreadfully awkward. Their father really is an arse, and their mother is completely intolerable."

Scorpius could only blink, his mouth open. "I'm not dating Albus Potter," he stammered. "Or any bloke. That's not the–"

"The sister, then?"

"What? No! Not Lily either."

Father sighed. "Thank God."

"I–" Scorpius tried to screw up his courage. "Father, there _is_ someone... I mean..." He swallowed. "Maybe... option number two?"

Father stared at him. "Oh, Merlin," he muttered after a pause.

Scorpius dropped his eyes, feeling all the air deflate from his lungs.

His father softened his tone. "Have your fling," he said with a sigh as he rose from the chair. "I don't even want to know who it is. But if you're hiding it, then you must already know it's complicated. Don't get attached, all right?" He sounded more tired than angry, but Scorpius still couldn't stop his hands from trembling. He folded them together in his lap and tried to raise his eyes again. His father walked over and squeezed his shoulder.

Scorpius sat there for a long time after his father had left, staring at the immaculate rug and wondering if he would ever have enough Gryffindor-style courage, even by proxy, to do what he feared he was going to have to do: choose Rose over his family.

***

In September, Mum made him sit a series of exams, each one building on the potions he made in the last, so that if he messed up one, he'd mess up all of them. A disturbingly gleeful expression came over her face as she explained the procedure to him before he set about revising and practicing, and he had to wonder if the world should be thankful that she'd always found practical potion brewing sufficiently boring that she'd never spent much time on it after her own apprenticeship. The world might have ended up with a new evil sorcerer if she had.

The morning of the first exam, Rose sent him an encrypted note that her owl dropped on his bed with a flourish. Rubbing his eyes and sitting up, he unfolded it with a grin on his face.

  
_Remember: pass this one, and my six months of dinners and foot rubs kick in. How's that for incentive?  
No? Okay, how about this: pass this, and next time we're alone, I get to call you "master"..._  


He groaned, falling back to the bed with far too many images alight in his mind. He was going to hold her to that one.

***

He passed. And not just because Mum was his examiner; she was a torment from beginning to end, and even brought in her old master from Paris to judge Scorpius's final potion and sign the papers, so she couldn't be accused of favouritism. It was a very un-Malfoy thing to do, but he was grateful for it. He'd bloody well earned this, and he didn't want anyone down the road to question his qualifications.

"One last thing," she said to him as they finished with the official business and she'd pulled him in for a fierce hug. She stepped back and went to her desk drawer, pulling out an envelope. He glanced at her as he opened it, revealing a contract.

His mouth fell open, and his eyes flew back and forth from the parchment to Mum. "I– what? No. Are you serious? Is this–?"

"Well, you can't live on an apprentice salary forever!"

"My apprentice salary was zero," he reminded her.

She smoothed a lock of hair back into her chignon. "Exactly. So, now you're a true working man, and Pansy insists on hiring you at a competitive salary."

Pansy grinned at him from the other side of the shop where she was restacking bottles. "Competitive. Yes, that's it. Don't tell him what he could be making in Berlin, or even Leeds."

He didn't care. He didn't want to live anywhere else, anywhere that Rose wouldn't be, and now he could actually afford to live on his own. He wrapped his arms around his mother again and swung her around, letting out an unrestrained _whoop_.

***

He didn't waste any time circling ads and going to showings. A few weeks later, he brought Rose to their new flat.

"I'm not moving in right away," he told her. "Still have to find a way to tell my parents about it. But we can come here anytime we want. And eventually... I mean, we can live in it. As soon as, uh..."

Rose stared at him so long he started to get nervous. He pushed his glasses up and shifted from one foot to the other, waiting for her reaction. He didn't have to wait long. With a cry, she launched herself into his arms, laughing and sobbing. He caught her and grinned, holding her tight while she squealed against his neck.

"Really?" she was saying. " _Really_? I'm not dreaming?"

He laughed. "Nope. Do you like it?"

She unwrapped herself from him at that and looked around critically. "Well, don't get in the habit of making somewhat major decisions like, uh, what our flat looks like, without asking me." She gave him a stern look, and he held up his hands.

"Fair enough."

"But this time, I think I can forgive you." Her smile lit up her face. It was big and open and the thing he'd first fallen in love with about her. She always wore her feelings all over her beautiful face. "It's amazing," she added in an awed whisper. She framed his face with her hands and drew him down for a kiss.

He held her hand as they peered into the bedroom, her eyes darting all around and taking in the décor. It was furnished but minimally decorated; he thought they could work on that together after they moved in. Her gaze stopped on the bed, though, and she tentatively stepped towards it, bending to smooth her palms over the bedspread.

She glanced up at him. "A bed," she whispered.

"I told you at New Year's," he murmured. "This year would be different. Didn't I?"

She smiled. "I didn't believe you."

"Folly." He tilted her chin up and kissed her. When her arms didn't come around him, he opened his eyes to find her unbuttoning her blouse already and pushing it off her shoulders. "Oh," he breathed. "Really?"

She nodded. "A _bed_ , Scorp."

Oh, yes. _God_. A bed. Finally. They had been physical almost since the beginning, their first kiss followed only a few weeks later by a great deal of practiced groping and eventually silent, barely-moving intercourse under a blanket on the sofa in his common room one night, Rose straddling his lap and slowly lowering herself on trembling legs onto his dick. She'd never been shy about sex with him, and in their furtive encounters, they'd learned to do all kinds of things to make up for having to stand up, or be outside, or finish in under five minutes.

But now, the way she was eyeing that bed like it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, he suddenly felt all that they'd been missing.

They took their time that night, undressing each other slowly and pausing to blush or laugh as body parts they'd never actually seen before suddenly became visible. It hadn't occurred to him that they had never been fully naked together before, but he silently thanked his new salary and the new flat something fierce when Rose finally dropped her bra to the floor and stood before him, trying to look brave even as she trembled.

He let her do the protection charm, and then he wrapped his arms around her and let her lead, touching her only after she'd touched him first. They crawled onto the bed together, laughing as elbows hit knees, and pulled the covers up over themselves. She snuggled in close to him for awhile, her fingers light over his chest and her legs tangled lazily with his. He stroked her back and arms, daring to move down over her hip before sweeping back up. He tried not to be self-conscious about how hard he was, but surely she could feel him against her leg.

Gradually, their touches heated up. Rose pushed the blankets off their torsos and raised herself on one elbow, her eyes roving over him. God, her breasts were amazing, pushed together as she lay on her side, and he couldn't bloody help himself; he reached out to touch her. With a gasp, she pressed forward into his hands as he moved his fingers over her nipples, catching his nails on them accidentally before her sharp moans made him do it again.

A _bed_. God, she'd been right: this was heaven. He sprawled beside her lazily, letting his hands move over every part of her body as their kisses intensified. She gasped against his mouth and began to tilt her hips towards him, until finally she seemed to get tired of waiting. Giving him a coy grin, she pressed her palm against his chest to hold him down and climbed on top of him, the blankets falling around her hips as she straddled his thighs.

He had to close his eyes to keep control. She looked so amazing on top of him like that. God, they'd never been able to do this, not with covert broom closet sex. He lay back and let her take control, his hands light over her hips as she grasped him and moved him slowly between her legs. Her cheeks were pink and thighs tensed as she hovered over him, and he couldn't get enough of just looking at her, watching her take control.

Her wetness seeped over his dick, and honestly, he could have cried. His fingers shook as he tried not to grip her too hard, but God, the way she was sliding down over him, it was every fantasy he'd barely let himself entertain. She went so slow, her eyes fluttering closed and her mouth parting in small gasps. He reached up to brush his fingers over her nipples, and she moaned, sliding further down on his cock. She seemed to grow shy again once she was all the way there, though, her thighs tight against his. Lowering her eyes, she covered her breasts with her arms, taking a few deep breaths.

"Hey," he murmured. "Come here. You're so amazing." He sat up and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her and pulling her back down with him. She moved her hips and let him thrust up into her, panting against his neck, her chest tight against his. She felt so good, tight and hot and God, she was so beautiful. He couldn't stop kissing her – her neck, her cheeks, even up into her hair. His hands smoothed over her back and he revelled in feeling her, all of her, for the first time.

"Roll over," she whispered, pausing in her movements. He grinned at her, thrilled at the spark in her eyes. Pulling out briefly, he rolled her onto her back and moved on top of her, trying not to crush her.

"Yeah?" he breathed.

"A _bed_ , Scorp," she said with a faint laugh. "This is amazing."

With a groan, he guided his dick back inside her, pressing forward as slowly as he could and watching her face for a reaction. Her mouth pinched a bit at first, but then she relaxed, running her hands over his back and urging him on. He didn't want to come yet. Well, he did, but God, he could do this forever, just be inside her watching her lips part and her chest heave with each thrust.

The bed was huge, and as he moaned at how she spread her legs wide and let him move between them. He couldn't hold back anymore. He picked up his pace, pushing in harder and feeling her hands grip his arse, until his body seized up and his dick began to throb, light racing up his spine. Merlin, she was incredible.

" _Oh_ ," she gasped. "I can feel you."

That sent a renewed burst of pleasure through him, and he clutched her in his arms, breathing hard.

"Can you– just–" She sounded desperate, her fingernails scratching his shoulder.

"What?"

With an impatient noise, she grabbed him tight around the wrist and thrust his hand down between her legs. His cock pulled free, still pulsing feebly in the sheath, and she shoved his fingers against her folds.

"Oh," he said, his eyes wide. She maintained her death grip on his forearm as he moved his fingers, trying to do the right thing to make her feel good.

"There," she gasped. " _There_. Don't stop."

Oh. Merlin. Okay, not stopping. Definitely not stopping. She felt thick and wet, her body arching against him, and he tried to do as she asked, touching her until she pressed her head back into the pillows, her neck bared and her stomach clenched. He felt a shudder against his hand and let out a low groan, because _wow_ , he'd never felt that before, never been able to spread her out like this and make her come.

He climbed back up to her and took her in his arms, panting and shaking, kissing her neck and rubbing her back until she quieted in his arms. They dozed together, naked and sated with the moonlight peeking through the window, and Scorpius could barely care about all the secrets they were keeping. He had _her_ , and that was all that mattered.

***

By October, Scorpius had almost lulled himself into a false sense of security. Mum hadn't made him chuck any more potions since passing his apprenticeship, Father hadn't brought up the, uh, _inquiries_ thing again, and even though she couldn't stay there overnight, Rose got to come to his flat anytime she wanted and either take all her clothes off, which he obviously had no complaints about, or just sit at the kitchen table and do her paperwork or a crossword puzzle over a cup of tea. He found himself watching her at those moments, memorising the way her hair fell down her back or the way she chewed on the end of her quill when she was concentrating.

Plus, this month she was working an extortion case a bit further down Diagon Alley, which meant she got to stroll by the shop several times a day, casting him covert looks when Pansy wasn't out front. It wasn't much, but it was more than they'd had in ages, and he was certainly going to take it.

On Friday that week, Mother had left early to go to Paris with Aunt Daphne for the weekend, Pansy having apparently told them both to fuck themselves when they tried to drag her along – which was odd, since Pansy loved Paris in general, but she'd been a complete bitch for months now, so they'd all just taken to rolling their eyes at her and moving on with their plans. She was working on the books in the back room when Scorpius left for the day, grateful for a reason not to have to listen to another inkpot crash against the wall when she got frustrated.

She could do figures in her head better than any of them, even calling out measurements to Scorpius when – as she put it – she got tired of listening to the wheels grind on the ancient abacus in his bloated Ravenclaw brain, so he wasn't sure what was causing her to hurl inkpots at the wall every hour or so, but Mum and Daphne figured it had something to do with a man, one of her eighteen ex-husbands or boyfriends or whatever it was, so Scorpius was more than happy to scamper off and not have to hear anything about that.

He was down the street, then, trading lazy kisses with Rose in a secluded corner, when the shop exploded.

Rose had her wand out before he could even register what the noise was. Racing after her, he skidded to a stop in front of the shop, nearly running into Rose as she barked orders at her Patronus and sent it off. The entire front window had blown out, but all the glass was gathered in a neat line along the front, as if it had simply fallen straight down rather than flying outward. No one appeared to be hurt on the street, in any case, but the front room was billowing smoke.

Rose raced inside. Fuck, she was fast. Scorpius's brain was still trying to catch up when he finally thought: _Pansy_.

"She's all right!" he heard Rose call through the smoke. He heard coughing. "I'm taking her to St Mungo's, though. Wait here for the team I called."

Then she was gone, Apparating away with a _crack_ and taking Pansy with her. Scorpius stumbled back out of the empty front of the shop and away from the smoke, coughing and hitting himself in the chest.

An emergency response team arrived a few minutes later and took his statement. As he debated waiting there for Rose to return or going on to St Mungo's, her Patronus appeared by his side. He felt a swell of pride and amazement whenever he saw it; she was so bloody hot when she was being powerful and Auror-like.

 _Pansy's okay_ , it told him. _Just some smoke inhalation. Your dad's here, so I took off. Sorry. Couldn't deal. The Aurors are taking over from the security team, though, Harry's orders. Rumour has it he just went to my dad and uncle's shop and lost his bloody mind! Thinks they had something to do with it. I'll let you know when I know more._ The Patronus vanished into a wisp of smoke – Rose knew he hated it when she made any kind of endearment come out of the animal's mouth, so she kept her messages brisk and businesslike when she used it on him.

He blinked at the spot it had stood for a moment before rushing to the hospital. When he got to St Mungo's as soon as he could, his father was there but Rose was gone.

"There you are." Father seemed to deflate with relief, striding over to him and embracing him fiercely. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I was already gone for the night; left Pansy to lock up. How is she?"

"Fine. They're keeping her overnight to make sure she's clear of potions fumes."

"Do they know what happened?"

He shook his head, his jaw tight. "I'll make some calls." He regarded Scorpius with concern. "Why don't you go get something to eat?" he said gently. "You're looking rattled."

"I– yeah." He couldn't get the image out of his head of Rose racing into that smoke-filled shop. He had to get used to it, he supposed; her job was going to be dangerous at times. But Father was right: it had rattled him.

"I'm glad you're safe," Father added, swallowing and looking away, and Scorpius felt an unexpected swell of emotion.

He headed down the hall as Father went back into Pansy's room. He found a candy dispenser and decided he was allowed chocolate for dinner after a day like this, but the bloody thing... He put the coin in and waited. Dammit. He was just about to start kicking it, when a flash of red caught his eye. He glanced up to see Head Auror Harry Potter himself striding towards him, his robes billowing behind him and a grim expression on his face. He nodded at Scorpius, stopping beside him and looking lost for a moment.

"I–" he began, pausing to clear his throat. "Ms Parkinson. We've received a report of an accident at the shop. Everyone all right?"

Scorpius tried not to be star struck, but he felt his mouth fall open a little bit anyway. Rose looked amazing in her new Auror robes, but even she had nothing on _Harry Potter_. He swallowed. "Yes, sir, we're all right. Well, I wasn't there, but Pansy's okay. Just some smoke inhalation. I keep the potions that would interact with each other far apart, though, sir. It could have been worse if they'd been side by side."

Mr Potter clenched his jaw. "Good work," he added, glancing around the hall.

"Over there." Scorpius hastened to point. "Room 49." Mr Potter strode off, and acting on what impulse he didn't know, Scorpius called after him. "My father's in there with her."

Mr Potter stopped.

"Just, in case you wanted a warning."

He glanced over his shoulder, and Scorpius grinned.

"I mean, I know _I_ always like to be warned about him."

To his amazement, Mr Potter grinned back. "Yeah. Thanks. I'll, uh, proceed with caution."

Still smiling, Scorpius turned back to the machine, only vaguely wondering why the head Auror himself would bother to check on a minor accident at a private firm, and why, if Rose's gossip mill was right, he'd already intervened with the joke shop.

His smile faded as voices began to boom from the room, though.

"Oh, she's _Auror business_ now, is she, Potter? Get the fuck out of here and go arrest your best mate, why don't you? You know they're behind this."

"They're already in custody. Believe me, Malfoy, if they had anything to do with this, I'll be the first to sign the orders for Azkaban."

Scorpius held his breath. Wow. Rose's dad could end up in _Azkaban_? Wait, Rose's dad tried to kill Pansy? And _him_?

"Draco." That was Pansy's voice, tired but firm. "It wasn't the Weasleys."

A silence fell over the room.

"What are you on about? They've been making threats since day one."

"Pranks," muttered Pansy. "It was Blaise," she added, so soft Scorpius could barely hear her.

Another silence, and then Father spoke. " _What_?"

"He's not the saint you think he is, Draco." Her voice was very quiet now. "He never was."

"I never thought he was a–"

"No, but you never believed me that he was complete bastard, either."

"I–"

"What did he do?" Mr Potter cut in, his voice low and rough. "I'll have him arrested in thirty seconds."

"He sent me a letter last week," said Pansy wearily. "Said it was against the terms of our agreement to use the settlement money to open the shop, or do anything with it that would actually help me earn a living. I showed it to the lawyers; they were working on some sort of rebuttal."

"So he wanted to _kill_ you?"

"No, I don't think so. It was after hours. Probably just wanted to damage the place." Pansy sighed.

"So, what, he thought he'd get some insurance money out of it if the place caught fire?"

"I don't know, Draco. I don't understand how he thinks."

Suddenly, Mr Potter strode from the room, speaking low into the tip of his wand. Scorpius jumped to the side, but he didn't seem to take notice. "This _is_ my fucking signature," he was saying as he stopped at the end of the hall. "Get the warrant and get a team out there. I want him in a holding cell before I finish talking. Freeze his accounts; looks like he needs money. I want Robards and Finch to interrogate if I'm not there yet. Notify Astoria Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass; tell them Ms Parkinson is fine. And Mrs Malfoy's son is fine; he wasn't there." He paused, rubbing his forehead. "And release Ron and George. Christ. Tell them I'll... explain later."

Scorpius scurried around a nearby corner as Mr Potter came back towards Pansy's room.

"What are you still doing here?" Father barked. "Go arrest Zabini and do something useful for once."

"Oh, fuck you, Malfoy."

"Draco..."

"I'm not letting him interrogate you right now, not if he's going to–"

"Look," said Pansy, her voice firm, "let me talk to Potter. Go get me some coffee downstairs, all right? This juice they've so thoughtfully provided doesn't even have any vodka in it."

"I'm hardly leaving you here with–"

"Fine, Malfoy. You want to know why I'm here? I'll tell you. This woman is different from anyone I've ever known, and she's the first in I don't even know how long to make me want to–"

"Claw your eyes out," Pansy hastily interrupted. "That's obvious. But I can handle him. Draco, darling, please. Bugger off. This doesn't concern you."

A moment later, after more huffing and protesting, Father stalked out and down the hall. The door lingered slightly ajar behind him, and out of morbid curiosity, Scorpius crept towards it, glancing up and down the hall. What _was_ the head Auror doing on this case, especially now that he knew his friends weren't involved? He could ask Rose to snoop around, but maybe he could just see for a second if he –

Oh.

He pulled back from the door, mashing his lips together to cover his gasp of surprise, but then peeked around again. Mr Potter was brushing a strand of hair off Pansy's face and tucking it behind her ear, then trailing his fingers down her arm and curling them around her hand. Pansy gave him a tired smile, rolling her eyes.

"Why did you stop me?" he asked her.

"You weren't really going to do it." She turned away from him.

"Pans."

She took a deep breath.

"I was."

She was quiet for a few moments, gazing out the window, before she finally turned her head on the pillow to face him again. Scorpius nearly backed away right then; he'd never seen a look like that on Pansy's face. She'd never looked so vulnerable, her eyes big and maybe a bit damp, her expression completely focused on Mr Potter. Scorpius let out a slow breath.

"Yeah?" she whispered.

He nodded, his fingers tracing patterns up her arm. "Why did you stop me?" he repeated. She gave him a gentle smile, her eyes fixed on his face.

"It's... enough that you would have."

He grinned at her. "I would have," he confirmed. "I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to get through a dinner with that bastard without wanting to stab him with a fork, but I'll try. For you, I'll even suffer Malfoys."

She smiled back at him, lowering her lashes, and okay, Scorpius had _really_ never seen her look like this before. It was like the world had narrowed only to the two of them, and the usual suspicion with which she seemed to view everything around her had completely disappeared. He'd never thought there was a person in the world who could make her so... _relaxed_. He felt a grin tugging at his own mouth and had a dash of regret for listening in on their moment.

They lowered their voices and there was more murmuring that Scorpius couldn't make out, but Mr Potter was doing a lot of talking, his face pinched, and Pansy was listening with lowered eyes, flushing every so often, or looking up at him with a brief smile, but she seemed guarded. Finally, he must have hit on the right thing to say, because her gaze flew up to his face and she stared at him, her lips parting.

He saw her mouth form over a single, breathless word. " _Harry_." Then she was struggling to sit up and wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder as he held her close. His big hands were strong around her back, and he was still murmuring into her ear because she was wiping her eyes and laughing, clinging to him and rocking slightly back and forth. When he finally pulled back enough to kiss her, soft and slow, Scorpius had to step away from the door. It was far too intimate to watch.

He made his way back down the hall on shaky legs, grinning like a fool. They'd been keeping it from everyone, but just now, with Father in the room, Mr Potter was going to tell him everything, tell the world that he loved Pansy and wanted to be with her. Deep down, a kernel of hope began to form. He pushed it aside for the moment, though, by the continuing shock of the situation.

Wow. Pansy and _Harry Potter_. He pulled out his coin. Wait till Rose heard about this.

***

**Winter ( _or, Pansy takes a chance_ )**

 

"So, Scorpius is obviously shagging your niece." A thin stream of smoke twirled up towards the ceiling, and Pansy turned her head on the pillow. "Did you know?"

Harry glanced at her, his mouth falling open, but he didn't say anything.

"Mm-hm. Thought so."

"Why would I know anything about that?"

Pansy brought the cigarette to her mouth again, smiling around the filter. "It's your job to know everything, Auror Potter," she purred. "Isn't it?"

He laughed, turning on his side and propping himself up on one elbow. The sheets fell to his waist, and he gave her a lopsided smile.

"Ooh, you like it when I call you that. Nearly forgot."

A low growl escaped his throat, and he leaned down to pick her fag out of her fingers and kiss her. "Stop. Smoking," he muttered against her mouth, before pinching the fag between his thumb and forefinger and taking a drag himself. As he exhaled, he threw the butt into the air and waved his hand after it, Vanishing it in a flash.

A shiver passed through her and she felt her nipples harden. _Merlin_ , that man. She could kick herself now for wasting half the year in a snit when she could have been flat on her back with her legs spread helplessly for him. Well, there was something to be said for making up for lost time. With a breathless laugh, she attacked his mouth and pressed him back down to the bed, climbing on top of him and pinning his arms on either side of his head.

He grinned as her fingers dug into his biceps, her hair falling into her face as she gazed down at him.

"Show off."

He tried to tilt his hips up against her, but she held him down. She sat back on her heels only when he stopped struggling. "Why do you care who Scorpius is shagging?" he asked.

"I don't." She ran her hands down his chest, rocking her hips against him just to be a tease. "But his father will."

"Did he tell you?"

"God, no. But he didn't have to. He's obviously been sneaking off to see someone for ages now, and the day of the accident–" she grimaced only slightly, grateful for the shadow that passed over Harry's face – "she was the first one there. Seemed odd, unless she was already close by, and Scorpius had only just left, so, that's my powers of deduction for you."

"Circumstantial. A trainee error. I might have to flunk you for that." His arms free, he reached down and cupped her arse, pressing her down against him even with the sheet still between them. She could feel him hardening again underneath her, and her stomach gave a tiny flip of anticipation.

"You didn't deny it."

He pressed his lips together. "No, guess not. I, ah, found them snogging behind the shop a few months ago. They haven't told anybody." He gave her a look. "Figured their families would disown them."

Well, Draco and Astoria might whinge a bit about it, but disowning surely wasn't in the cards. That child meant everything to them. The Weasleys, on the other hand... "Well," she sniffed, "I suppose we can't exactly judge."

He smiled. "No. Not exactly." His hands continued to smooth over her hips and arse, and she shivered, rotating gently in his lap. "Hey, Pans?"

"Mm."

"Can we talk about the kids some other time?"

Giving him a coy smile, she rose up on her knees and pulled the sheet back, climbing back on top of him but holding herself just out of reach of where his cock was straining up towards her.

"I've got you in your own bed for once," he continued, his hands tracing lazy patterns over her hips and thighs. "Seems a pity to spend it talking."

"I knew it. You only want me for one thing."

"Right now, yeah," he said, forcing a grin, but it faded. "But not always. Not– it's more than that." He sought her gaze. "You know that, don't you?"

Oh, she couldn't even bring herself to tease him, not when he was looking up at her so earnest like that. She nodded, bending down to kiss him gently. "It's my money, too, isn't it?" She grinned against his mouth, and he laughed, one strong hand coming around to the back of her neck to anchor her.

"Want every part of you," he said in a rough voice. "All of it."

" _Harry_ ," she breathed before she could stop herself, his lips warm against hers. His answering moan made it all worthwhile. Before she knew it, he was sitting up and rolling them over, nudging her onto her stomach and kneeling behind her. He draped himself over top of her, covering her back and kissing slowly up the side of her neck. Her legs spread of their own accord – Merlin, they always did with him; it was almost embarrassing – and he moved his hand down, sliding his fingers into her folds. He had already come inside her once that night, and the wetness there eased the way. Even more embarrassing was how much she loved getting dirty like this with him, letting him come on her, in her, marking her and then rubbing his fingers through it as if to prove the point. She was stained and filthy and could only think of how much she wanted him to take her again.

"Pans." He leaned down and nudged her ear with the tip of his nose.

"Get off me, you beast."

"You've really got to stop pretending sex with Gryffindors is so off-putting to you. I'm just not buying it anymore."

"I'm a terrific actress, that's all."

"Pansy."

"Potter."

His fingers dipped lower, sliding through the lingering wetness between her legs. She moaned without meaning to. "Can you come for me again?" he whispered, and Merlin, she could have right then.

"Of course not," she said breathlessly as his fingers got more insistent, sweeping up over her clit as she tried to catch her breath.

"I think you can."

"Never."

He nuzzled the side of her neck, his body warm against hers before lifting away and settling behind her.

She turned her face to the side, her cheek tight against the pillow, and brought her knees up. He let out a low noise, and she knew he was looking at her, running his hand down her back, over her arse, and watching her spread herself for him. He pressed against her a moment later, sliding his dick up into her folds and through the come still dripping out of her. "Pansy," he breathed, low and reverent, and she pushed back against him as he penetrated her again.

He went achingly slow, pressing in little by little until she was completely full. His hips nestled against her arse, and his hands continued to smooth down her back and sides, light, soothing touches that made her gasp. "God," she choked out, clenching her fingers in the sheets as he withdrew, still so slow, and pushed back in. "Harder."

"Not this time," he murmured, his lips soft over her back, and damn him, this was blissful torture. He began to fuck her so slowly she could have cried, setting every nerve ending she had alight as he pushed in, inch by gradual inch, rotated his hips a bit while flush against her, and then pulling back out at the same glacial pace. She didn't know how he was doing it; normally, they both liked it fast and hard, making the bed shake and their voices go hoarse from shouting. "Like that?" he murmured.

"Torture," she managed, trying to push back against him. He gave a low laugh, increasing his pace a little bit, but still acting like they had all the time in the world. She could feel every inch of him as he pressed in and lingered, could feel the head of his dick as it caught on her opening at each slide out, could feel the minute pulses up his shaft as he tried to hold himself still inside her.

He pulled out again and paused. She felt his fingers replace his cock for a moment, swirling through her soaked cunt. When he withdrew them, he slid them up, _oh_ , up higher. She instinctively pulled away a little bit, giving him a warning glance over her shoulder. He pressed his cock into her again, though, slow and steady, and she shivered and fell back down to the bed. "Let me?" he murmured, his wet fingers now unmistakably playing at her anal rim.

She gasped, burying her face in the pillow, her body shuddering at the mere thought of it.

"Just a bit. Just like this."

They both seemed to be holding their breath as he kept his dick inside her but also pushed forward with his finger. It breached her hole, his come and her own wetness easing the way, but he didn't stop at the tip. He kept pressing forward, his finger easing into her arse, and it was a minor touch, really, not anything like full anal penetration would be, and yet her body was barely her own anymore. She trembled underneath him, shamelessly pushing back to meet him as sounds she barely recognised spilled from her mouth.

"Okay?"

She rocked back onto her knees, urging him deeper. "Harry," she gasped, her body flooding with sensation. "More."

He groaned along with her, increasing the pace of his thrusts as he continued to fuck her. He held his finger still, massaging inside her passage at a different pace than the deep penetration into her cunt, and sex had never been like this, not with anyone else, never so all-consuming. She felt like he could reach every bit of her from the inside out, stroking and caressing, his body aligned with hers, his voice low and rough in her ear, his heart hammering against her skin.

He pushed his finger in deeper and she came with a helpless cry, jerking against him and shuddering at his touch.

"Oh, Christ." As if only belatedly realising how close she'd been, he moved his other hand down to sweep over her clit, drawing out the sensation and making sparks flood through her all over again. The warm gush of it lasted ages, pulsing through her body everywhere he was touching her. He held himself inside, as still as he could, and she felt herself rippling over his dick and his finger, squeezing him until she could feel him trembling.

He pulled his finger out then and gripped both her hips, slamming into her with enough force that she planted one palm against the headboard to anchor herself. Oh, Merlin, he felt incredible, desperate and driven. "Come on," she whispered fiercely, pressing back to meet him.

"Pansy," he moaned. " _God_." He thrust in hard and stilled, his dick jerking inside her and warm wetness flooding her again. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, pulling her up into his lap as he gasped endearments against her neck. He was still thick and pulsing, the ache in her cunt and her thighs nearly making her come all over again. His palms smoothed over her stomach and breasts. She let her head fall to his shoulder as he kissed her neck.

At that moment, she could hardly give a fuck what Draco, or Astoria, or Scorpius, or Granger, or Weasley, or even Harry's children were going to think about this when they finally got around to telling them. There wasn't a single thing they could say or do to make her give this up.

***

"You look terrible, Pansy. You're scaring the customers."

Pansy glanced up, her head still leaning on one fist where she sat at the shop counter. "Must have been my busy lunch hour shagging your husband, darling," she shot back, her tone lazy.

"Doubtful. He's back on blokes this season." Astoria gave a helpless shrug, smiling impishly at Pansy.

"Ah, which means, so are you."

The impish grin turned broader. "Why should he be the only one to play?"

"Why indeed?" grumbled Pansy. "And they say infidelity is a lost art."

"Don't be jealous. It makes your eyes sag."

Pansy pressed her lips together, tamping down on her body's vivid memory of the things Harry had done to her with his tongue that very morning. "Jealous, yes. I really must find a man." She flipped through the pages of a nearby magazine.

There was a snicker from behind the cauldron in the back room. Eyes narrowed, Pansy leaned back on her stool and peered around the corner to the lab. "Something funny back there?"

Scorpius glanced up and grinned at her. "Nope. Just one hundred per cent behind your quest to find a man."

Astoria broke into gales of laughter, the bitch. "He knows what a demon you are without one, is all," she told Pansy as she brushed past. She paused, leaning in close. "Although you _have_ been spotted around town lately, you know. One would think an Auror would teach you better clandestine skills, hm?"

Pansy lifted her chin and held Astoria's gaze.

" _Not_ my first choice for you," she continued airily, "but then again, as delicious as Blaise was to look at, a rampaging hippogriff would have treated you better. He can't be any worse than _that_. Draco will have his balls, of course."

Pansy bit down on a smile. That he would. "So will Daphne," she added cautiously, but Astoria only gave her that trademark knowing smile.

"Tell Daphne where to stuff it," she advised, patting Pansy's arm. "Until _she's_ got the most famous man in the bloody wizarding world making eyes at her over a cappuccino like I saw Potter doing last week–" she paused to give Pansy room to deny it, smirking when she didn't – "she hasn't a leg to stand on."

Pansy laughed, ducking her head down. "Thank you, darling. I won't make you have him for dinner, I promise."

"Good." She kissed Pansy on the cheek and then stood up straight, hitching her purse up. "I'm off," she called to Scorpius, before lowering her voice for Pansy. "Damian's making me dinner." She sauntered to the door of the shop, blowing a kiss over her shoulder.

"Change your robes," she called after her. "Blue makes you look like your mother."

"Oh, _ouch_." Scorpius appeared in the doorway from the lab, one hip leaning against the frame as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You'd best hope she didn't hear that one."

Pansy waved her hand, digging in her bag for her cigarettes.

"Who is it tonight – Damian or Marius?"

Pansy looked up.

"She thinks I don't know." He gave her a tight smile. "I'd rather I didn't, of course, but I've eyes and ears. Hard not to notice."

With a sigh, Pansy lit her fag. "Damian. I think your father gets Marius tonight," she added, glancing over at him and smiling around the filter as she took a drag.

He made a strangled noise, turning to bury his face in his arm against the doorframe. "Walked right into that one."

"You really did." She patted the stool beside her. They hadn't had any customers all afternoon, and weren't likely to get any so close to closing time. "How are you, love? We haven't chatted much lately."

"Too busy being yours and Mother's workhorse." But he grinned at her and walked over, after one last glance over his shoulder at his cauldron. "That's got another twenty minutes to boil."

"Well, get away from all those fumes for a moment. It's making your skin sallow."

He sat on the stool next to her, his fingers touching his jaw. He frowned at her.

"So. Care to tell me what you're up to?"

He blinked at her. "Just... making some more Calming Draught." He glanced nervously back at the lab.

"Yes," she said slowly, "but I meant, care to tell me what you're up to every lunch hour when you're gone for two hours?"

"Ah."

She took another drag, watching him expectantly. She didn't really care what he did with his time; he was good for it, and still cost them less than a potions master who wasn't related to Astoria would, but she was bored, and the boy could be entertaining when he thought he was keeping secrets. He did actually seem to be weighing whether or not to tell her something, though, so she sat up straighter and tried to look concerned. "Not my business, of course," she began softly, "but if you need an ear..."

"No, it's okay. It's just..." Scorpius pushed his glasses up, the corners of his mouth turning down.

Pansy lifted the fag to her lips again, waiting for him to spit it out. Honestly. How Draco and Astoria ever produced a Ravenclaw was beyond her. A Slytherin would already have spun a tall tale for her, eager to portray himself in the best possible light while getting her to spill all _her_ secrets.

"Look, if I tell you something, will you – well. Fuck. No, of course you wouldn't keep it to yourself." He shook his head, looking away. "Never mind."

Pansy pouted. "Sure, I would. I'm excellent at keeping secrets."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "No, you're not. You told everyone at the Equinox party that Mother's robes were made by house-elves."

"That wasn't a secret, darling. Did you see the seams on that hem?" She lifted the fag to her lips again.

"And you told–"

"I'm excellent at keeping secrets _now_ ," she repeated, irritated. "Now, what is it, love? You've been moping around here for weeks. It's bad for my business. People want to come into the shop and see a gorgeous young thing behind the cauldron–"

Scorpius coloured, his lips twitching in a pleased smile.

"–not the pale, listless thing you've become." She waved her hand at him. "Out with it! We'll sort you out, and then everything can return to normal."

"I don't know about that," he muttered, and she sighed loudly, giving him a pointed look. "All right, all right." He rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

He really was an adorable child, much more than Draco had been at his age, with his perpetual frown and that giant stick up his arse.

"I've been seeing someone," he blurted out, so quickly Pansy had to review the words in her head. A slow smile tugged at her mouth.

" _Oh_. Well, I didn't see that one coming." She blew out a stream of smoke. "Well done, then. Is he fit?"

"I don't know. I mean– wait. Is he– what?"

She winked at him. It was no fun riling Draco up like this anymore; Scorpius was the next best thing. "Quidditch player? No, wait." She sized him up. "Professor, I bet. Or is he a Potions man?" Her mouth fell open. "Oh, you dirty _dog_. A master? From Paris, or–"

"Not a he!" Scorpius's mouth was open. "What are you on about?"

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean? He's a girl. I mean, she is. She's– I'm seeing a girl. Woman, I guess." He made an awkward gesture with his hands that might have been meant to approximate a woman's figure. Pansy frowned.

"A girl?" She tilted her head to the side. " _Really_?"

"What?" He followed her gaze, glancing awkwardly down his body.

"Oh. Nothing." She waved her fag. "That's wonderful, sweetheart."

He glared at her. "Why does everyone think I'm gay?"

She leaned forward. "Because you don't _date_ anyone. Not publicly, at least. No reason for that except that you're playing hide the salami and don't want your family to know."

"I– oh." He sighed. "That's not what I don't want them to know."

She tapped her fag against a nearby ashtray, trying to gauge how much she might be able to get out of him. "A girl. All right, so what's the trouble, then? She wants to take it _slow_ –" she infused the word with as much disdain as possible – "and you're looking for a bit more activity? Honestly, darling, girls like that will never become the wild sex fiends you want them to be. If she won't do it now, she won't do it after you're married, so don't pin your hopes on that."

He laughed. "You're mad, you know that?" He pushed his glasses up again and reached for her fag. "Gimme that."

Reluctantly, she passed it over and he took a shallow drag, trying to avoid her lipstick on the filter. He coughed and gave it back.

"It's not that," he admitted at last. "She's... more than enough of a wild sex fiend." His cheeks coloured, and Pansy grinned.

"Yeah? Well done. Hold onto this one, then."

"I'm trying to," he said quietly.

She regarded him. "What's the worst you think your father will do?" she asked gently.

"He'd... be disappointed."

She waved her hand. "So what? Do you need his money?"

"Well, no."

"His social status?"

"Er, maybe a little."

"Bollocks. You've got more than enough all on your own. Stick with _me_ ," she added, "and you'll always get invited to the right parties."

He gave her a small smile.

She paused. "His approval?"

Scorpius didn't raise his eyes, but he nodded. "Of course."

"Well." She took another drag. "I can't imagine any father, least of all yours, disappointed that their son has brought home the daughter of war heroes, the best of the new crop of Aurors, and the only person anywhere in Britain or the Continent to beat him on the Potions N.E.W.T. that year."

He went very still, not looking at her. His lips parted and a flush crept up his face. She let the silence linger. Finally, he raised his eyes.

"Don't panic," she said with a roll of her eyes. "It's not that obvious, and I don't think your parents – or hers – have figured it out yet, but I happen to be tremendously good at this sort of thing."

To her surprise, his expression hardened. "You've had some practice, have you?"

"Why yes, I have." She matched his glare. "And hiding it is atrocious." She stabbed the fag out on the counter, waved her wand over the mess, and reached for another. "You know about that, do you?"

He lowered his gaze again. "Saw you two at the hospital that day," he mumbled, and Pansy went still, trying to remember if there had been any covert hands under her sheets or blow jobs when the Healer wasn't around. She'd probably been too shaken up for that.

Still, she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I wasn't prying! I just wondered why he'd be there, and not someone... a bit lower down the ladder." He gave her a shy but knowing smile. "Well done, yourself."

She felt herself _blushing_ , dammit, and cleared her throat. "Yes, well. There you go, reason number one not to tell anyone." She tilted her head to the side. "Why on earth would someone like him bother with someone like me?" She tried to keep her voice light but feared she was failing. Scorpius gave her a sympathetic look. "That's all anyone would be thinking when they saw us."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. And you can bet that's what Rose thinks half the time, too, that you're just biding your time until your father fixes your marriage to some French pureblood and you stop slumming it with blood traitors like the Weasleys."

He jumped off his stool. "Take that back." His face was red and his chest was heaving.

"It's not my opinion, darling. I'm telling you what other people think, or if they don't, what _she_ thinks other people think."

"She doesn't think that." He gazed off across the shop, his brow creased. "She knows I love her."

"Does she? You should probably prove it to her."

His gaze snapped back to her, his mouth falling open a bit. "She _knows_."

Pansy slid off her own stool and stood before him. She reached up to cup his cheek before leaning back against the counter. "If you were eavesdropping that day at the hospital, you miserable brat, you know that Harry was prepared to tell your father – the worst possible person – that the reason he'd come to the hospital to see me was because he's in love with me." Her voice caught only briefly on the words, and she had to pause to take a breath. Even after months had passed, she had trouble believing it, no matter how many times he insisted it was true. "You need to show Rose that you're prepared to do the same thing. To fight for her."

"That's not fair. I'd do anything for her."

"Doesn't look that way."

He deflated, leaning his palms on the counter and lowering his head. "Why are you doing this?" he asked after a pause, his voice small.

"Because someone has to," she said softly. "And because this has gone on far too long, for both of us. I'll make you a deal, darling." She put her hand on his shoulder until he looked up, his expression miserable as he waited for her to speak. "I'll tell if you do."

He huffed out an anguished laugh, burying his face in one hand. "It's not the same!"

"Why not?"

"Because no one, not even my father, can actually hold it against you that you're shagging _Harry Potter_. Are you mental? You'll be the envy of every witch in Europe!"

She considered that. "Mm. I hope so."

"What if her parents forbid her to see me?" He really did look inconsolable at the thought, poor thing.

"Then prove they're wrong about you!" She threw her hands up. "Are you a Malfoy or not?"

"That's exactly the problem!"

With an exasperated sigh, she threw her pack of fags in her purse and gathered her cloak. "Fine, fine." She waved her hand. "Make yourself miserable. See if I care." She headed for the door. "Lock up when you're done feeling sorry for yourself, would you? I've a dinner date."

"Pansy."

She glanced back.

"I just... I _can't_."

She regarded him for a long moment. She knew exactly how he felt, exactly what it was like to feel trapped like that, but she also knew the other side of it now, the breath of air she could take now that she'd stopped giving a fuck what anyone thought. They still hadn't made any major announcements, but they weren't hiding, either. It was so liberating she could cry. "Yes," she said slowly, giving him a pointed look. "You can."

***

"I like this bed, you know," Harry murmured, one arm draped over her waist. "We should sleep in it again sometime when Daphne's actually home."

"Baby steps, Potter," she muttered through a yawn. "First, we stay at mine when no one knows we're here. Next, we stay at yours when no one knows we're there. Then–" she waved her hand, snuggling up against his chest – "I don't know, we tell one person a year until the end of time."

"Can you stand me that long?" She could feel him grinning against her hair.

"No, probably not." She sighed. "A flaw in the plan, then."

He was quiet for a moment, but then his hand came up to stroke her hair. "Come on. I've got to be in to torment the new trainees by nine. Let's go get breakfast at Seamus's."

She wrinkled her nose, and he leaned down to kiss it, grinning.

"I ate your French pastries and ordered a coffee I couldn't pronounce last week," he pointed out. "Today is steak and eggs day."

She sighed and tried to protest, but he only pulled her up and stumbled with her into the shower. It was strange, having him in her own space, watching him close his eyes and tilt his head back to rinse his hair in _her_ shower, her lavender soap sudsing over his chest. The nozzle was too low, making him have to duck to get underneath it, but she found that oddly appealing as well. He kissed her as she wrung the excess water from her own long hair, one of his hands smoothing over her bare shoulder as he stepped away, grinning like an idiot, to wrap one of her lilac and mint towels around his hips.

She waved him off with a playful shove and lingered for a moment to collect herself, still uncertain whether or not it was wise to get used to this. It was probably far too late to be worried about that, though. She was already used to it and already looked forward to it – to _him_ – every single day.

In twenty minutes, they were seated in a cosy booth at Finnigan's, the worn faux-leather of the bench seeping up over her thighs and the chipped table surface catching the sleeve of her jumper every time she stirred her (stale, bitter) coffee. She gave Harry a petulant sigh, wiping her thumb through the lipstick on her cup, but he only grinned at her.

Finnigan himself looked just as goofy, wiping down the bar and shooting Harry terribly non-covert winks every few minutes. He sent over plates of ridiculous breakfast items for them as if they were giants who hadn't eaten in weeks – flapjacks, sausages, fried tomatoes, runny eggs, some sort of potato concoction, and piles of toast dripping with butter and jelly. The burly waiter gave a mock bow as he set down the last plate, his sleeves rolled up to reveal a pair of hairy forearms tattooed with bright colours and shapes.

"Oh, nearly forgot," he added, waving his wand to Summon one more item from the kitchen. "On the house," he said, giving Pansy a wink. "Boss said this might be more your style, ma'am." Pansy opened her mouth in surprise, but then closed it and shook her head, laughing, when he revealed a pretty little china plate filled with tiny croissants, folded with crème fraiche and drizzled with raspberry coulis.

"All right," she muttered to Harry when the waiter had left them to it, "at least one of your friends has won me over."

He flashed her a pleased look, loading his plate with eggs and sausages. After chewing a moment, he said, "We should do more."

She looked up from her croissant.

"More than this." He gestured around the pub. "More than sleeping at your place when Daphne doesn't even know we're there. I want to..." He paused, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. "I want you to meet my kids. I mean, they already know I've been seeing someone. James keeps teasing me about staying out past curfew." His eyes on his plate, his face lit up a bit in a fond smile. "But they– I mean, I want them to know you."

She swallowed the bite she'd been slowly chewing, and then she placed the rest of the croissant back on the plate. Bunching her serviette in her hands, she tried to buy herself some time. Did she want this? Would she ever be able to walk away from this if she'd spent time with his bloody children? Was he still just a casual fuck if he let her in on his life like this? She caught herself, nearly laughing. Merlin. He hadn't been just a casual fuck in over a year, if she was honest with herself.

She raised her eyes to find him gazing at her, an earnest but concerned expression on his face.

"What if I said no?"

He blinked at her.

Leaning forward across the sticky table, she tried to keep her voice steady. "What if I said I've never cared for children, certainly not someone else's, and anyone who takes your time away from _me_ is going to be nothing but a problem in this relationship?"

He regarded her for a long moment.

Dammit. He still didn't know her well enough. He _still_ thought she was everything his friends would say she was: selfish and egotistical, with nothing but –

"Then I'd say," he began slowly, "that I'm sorry to hear that, because even though they're grown up now and don't need me as much, my kids come with me. Anyone who wants to be in a relationship with me – a real one," he added, "not just one where we get naked twice a week in a hotel room – has to take the whole me."

She nodded, lowering her eyes.

"And this would be the part where I'd pitch a fit and tell you you're not the woman I thought you were, how dare you, et cetera. But you didn't actually mean that. I know you didn't." He sat back in his seat and gave her a pointed look, as if daring her to stand by her statement and walk out on him.

She sighed, picking up her cooling coffee and taking a sip. "Of course I'll meet your bloody children," she said, raising her eyes to him over the cup.

A grin spread across his face.

"We should have done that months ago."

"Don't start."

She smiled, leaning forward. He met her halfway and brushed a kiss across her lips.

"You're a bloody handful, you know that?"

"I've been told."

He laughed, settling back on the bench and picking up his fork again. "Christmas Eve," he said.

"Hm?"

"We'll do it all on Christmas Eve. Ron and Hermione throw a big party every year. I'll get them to invite some of your friends. You know, in the spirit of cooperation or something. Hermione's always on about things like that. "

"And you'll snog me in line for the punch, while Granger tries to dunk my head in? Lovely. Can't wait."

"She won't do that. Well, I guess she might try, but I'll keep an eye on her."

Pansy laughed. "Ta."

His eyes widened, and she could almost see the mechanics of his brain flying through the idea. "The kids can do it, too," he said with a grin, his face alight.

"What?"

"Scorpius and Rose! This has all been just so stupid, for all of us. We'll have a joint, uh, coming out party, as it were, and they can tell their parents at the same time we do."

"Christ, no. That's a terrible idea. Draco will blame me for corrupting the boy."

"Well, it's not like you've been hosting Gryffindor sex parties or something." He glanced over at her, his lips quirking. "Have you?"

"Ugh. You will not say such heinous things if you ever want me to have an orgasm again."

"I do, in fact." He glanced at his watch. "Bollocks. I'm late. Come on, I'll walk you to the shop. We can snog out front and scandalise Astoria." He climbed out of the booth, flipped some coins on the table and waved at Finnigan before helping her with her cloak.

"Oh, it would take much more than that to scandalise Astoria."

"Ah. That sounds like something I absolutely don't want to know about."

He took her hand, and bloody hell, she felt like a teenager on a date as his fingers threaded through hers. She followed him through the door and out to the street, her head held high. They were a damn good-looking couple, she knew, with their dark hair, her good skin, and his broad shoulders. His clothing needed work, but her cloak was new and her boots were Italian, which went a long way in a fashion hell like Diagon Alley.

"Christmas Eve," he murmured in her ear.

"Oh, fine. There'd better be vodka."

"Gallons of it. Just for you."

She smiled. "Oh, I don't think I'm the one who'll need it."

***

When Christmas Eve arrived, it didn't take very long after giving her cloak to Granger's far too interested son to hang up that Pansy began to regret agreeing to this little stunt.

"Thank you, darling," she said, eyeing him when he reappeared at her side a moment later, trying to hook his arm in hers and lead her to the wine.

"Care to dance?" He tried to bow before her and take her hand, but his eyes were fixed on her chest. She sighed.

"Not right now." She grabbed a wineglass from the nearby bar, looking desperately around the room. Ah. Perfect. She leaned close to him and pointed. "See that bloke there, in the tight trousers?"

He eagerly followed her gaze, nodding.

"That's Ethan Nott. Now, you didn't hear this from me, but–" she lowered her voice – "he loves gingers. Can't get off fast enough if it's a ginger sucking his dick."

The boy took in a startled breath at her words, but his eyes were glued across the room. "Thank you," he breathed, looking like he was about to fall to his knees in gratitude right then. He scurried off, and Pansy took a sip. Well, it might even be true, for all she knew. And even if it wasn't, she'd never known a Nott to turn down a blow job.

Harry kept his distance for now, but if he thought he was being discreet, he really had to work on his skills. He kept catching her eye across the room and raising his glass, grinning in his usual endearing and idiotic way. She pushed down a smile. He had been rather vague on the plan. Her only job had been to make sure Draco, Astoria, Scorpius and as many of their friends as she could manage agreed to show up and drink the Weasleys' liquor. It hadn't been that hard, actually.

She saw Harry huddled with Rose more than a few times, her expression grim but determined as she nodded at whatever he was saying. They would clink glasses each time, and she would head to the front of the room, but rather than stopping to make a toast and announce that she was shagging the Malfoy heir, as Pansy figured Harry had told her to do, she would only duck her head down and make another circle of the room, giving tight smiles to well-wishing party-goers.

Pansy drained her glass. God, this was going to take forever. She wanted it done with so she could go home and play Santa's little helper with Harry. She'd bought a cute little set of antlers and a red lacy thing just for the occasion. If neither he nor Rose made their move in the next two minutes, Pansy was going to march over there and tell him about his present while he was talking to the Minister, and see if _that_ got him to move his bloody –

Oh, finally. Everyone stopped talking, turning to stare at the girl clinking her glass like a madwoman. Pansy stood back against the wall. Oh, this should be good. She glanced over at Scorpius, who was staring at Rose with panic on his face. Pansy took pity on him, but only for a moment. He'd have to get used to the Gryffindor way of doing things: act first, think later.

"I just wanted to thank you all for coming. My mum tells me this is the twentieth annual Weasley family Christmas party, and we are glad to have several, um, new guests with us this year."

There was lukewarm applause. Pansy felt her embarrassment radar pinging, but she held her tongue. Scorpius was starting to look a bit green.

"And so, I, um, yes." She cleared her throat. "I'm very glad you're here."

Pansy sighed.

"Happy Christmas, everyone!" Rose raised her glass, and the crowd followed, muttering their own greetings before resuming their conversations.

Harry was giving Rose a warm look, but his face was pinched. She only shook her head at him, walking away and lowering her eyes to the floor. Pansy glanced over at Scorpius and saw him looking miserable too, like he wanted to run after her but couldn't make his feet move. This was getting ridiculous. She looked back over at Harry and found him watching her.

She held his gaze, both of their lips twitching, and Pansy saw the moment it occurred to him to do it.

"Hey, everyone," he called, setting his drink down and already striding across to her. "Happy Christmas indeed."

Pansy put her drink down behind her and shook her head, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Oh, you bastard," she muttered as Harry closed in on her, grinning wickedly. He reached out and framed her face in his hands, pulling her in for a searing kiss. She laughed against his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and melting against him. He held her tight, deepening the kiss as one hand slid up into her hair and the other down over her arse. She stood on her tip-toes and nipped at his lower lip, still shaking her head. "You're fucked now," she whispered. He laughed, diving back in and kissing her breathless.

The silence in the room around them slowly eased into low murmurs and eventually laughter and cheers. The Weasley brothers seemed to be leading the charge, going by the general lewdness of the suggestions, followed by the embarrassed groans of Harry's children.

Finally, Harry pulled back, but kept his arms wrapped around her. "You're mad, and fierce, and probably all wrong for me," he said in a loud voice, "but I love you, Pansy Parkinson. And I don't care what House you were in twenty-five years ago."

She rolled her eyes, swaying with him. "And you're daft," she called, "and your hair is terrible, and you take far too long in the shower."

He grinned, and she reached up for another kiss.

"But I bloody love you too, Harry Potter." She pulled back and gazed at the crowd around them. "And fuck off, anyone who doesn't like it," she added, only half joking.

She looked around when Harry stepped back a bit, his arm still circling her waist. Following his gaze, she found Weasley and Granger standing stock still at the living room door, matching expressions of horror on their faces. Pansy slipped a glance over at Scorpius where he seemed to be trying to hide behind a plant, and Rose, who looked close to tears at her parents' reaction.

Harry leaned in and kissed her cheek, whispering quickly in her ear, "Let me go talk to them, all right? I'll be right back."

Oh, brilliant. Leave her to fend for herself. She found Draco and Astoria across the room and was relieved to see that Astoria was only refilling her wineglass and downing it in one gulp, while Draco was leaning against the wall with his head lowered, pinching the bridge of his nose. They'd be fine. Granger and Weasley, though... that didn't bode well. She saw shadows outside the window in a heated argument, arms flapping and fingers pointing, and she frowned. Bugger.

Pansy headed to the kitchen for some quiet and a cigarette. She'd barely got it lit when Harry's bloody ex-wife barged in, her hands on her hips.

"Not your concern, Weasley." Pansy took a drag and gave her a warning look.

"It's not 'Weasley' anymore," she said, her jaw clenched.

"Well, it's not 'Potter,' either," Pansy shot back.

Ginny stared at her a moment and then, to Pansy's surprise, she laughed, burying her face in one hand. "True enough," she said, shaking her head. "Fine, Parkinson. You want him? He's all yours." She stepped forward. "But if I ever find out you've been keeping him from his children, or doing anything to hurt them, I'll–"

"I have no evil plans regarding your children, I promise you. Do you honestly think Harry would let anyone near them who did?"

The silence stretched between them, but Ginny only stared at her. Finally, she pressed her lips together and took a step back. Before she could say anything else, her husband appeared around the door.

"Gin?" Wood murmured, his eyes darting between them, lingering for a moment to greet Pansy. "Parkinson." His mouth turned up in a small smile, and Pansy winked at him. Always did like that one. "Let's go, yeah? I told Lily she could stay with us tonight and go back to Harry's for lunch tomorrow. I think Al was spiking her punch; she looks a bit green."

Sighing, Ginny cast a faint smile over her shoulder. "Bollocks, Albus," she muttered. She headed for the door, pausing only briefly to glance back at Pansy, shaking her head.

A few moments later, Rose came in.

"All right, love?" asked Pansy, regarding her. God, she looked terrible, with circles under her eyes and her hair a mess. She must run her hands through it when she was agitated as much as Harry did to his.

"Been better." She managed a small smile. "Good on you, though. I'm glad..." She cleared her throat. "I'm glad yours is done. That it's out there. Guess the world didn't end, did it?"

Pansy smiled.

"My turn now, right?"

"Whenever you're ready," said Pansy gently. She passed Rose a cigarette. "Go on. You deserve it."

She hesitated, and an impish grin tickled at the corners of her mouth, but she shook her head. "My mum would have my hide," she said with a laugh.

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself. That mother of yours could stand to smoke something a lot stronger than–"

"Rose?" A sharp voice cut through Pansy's words. "What are you doing in here?"

"With me, you mean?" Pansy added, smiling sweetly as she exhaled a stream of smoke. "Relax, Granger. I'm not seducing her."

"That's a relief," Granger parried back. Pansy almost gave her a full point for it. "I would think you have your hands full with illicit seductions these days." Pansy followed her gaze out to the living room, where Harry, bless his lightweight heart, was rosy-cheeked from the mead, still deep in discussion with Weasley.

"Oh, Potter was hardly a seduction," she said with a laugh. She rested her hip against the counter and took another drag, holding Granger in her gaze. "He was practically gagging for it."

Granger went for her wand. "How dare you come in here and–"

"Mum! Put your wand away!"

Pansy moved only to tap the end of her fag against the sink.

"And you." Rose turned on Pansy, hands on her hips. "Do you have to rile her up like that?"

"Allow me my simple pleasures, darling."

Granger lowered her wand but still glared daggers at Pansy. "With the possible exception of my husband," she began in a low voice, pointing out the door, "that man out there is the kindest, most generous soul you will ever have the privilege to meet. You look good in a tight dress, I'll give you that, Parkinson," she gritted out, "but don't think for a second that you're worthy of someone like him, not for more than just a tumble."

Pansy glanced over at Rose, who had backed herself against the counter, gripping the edges. Her face had gone ashen. "Oh, do keep going, Granger. Such a wonderful example you're setting for your daughter."

"Don't you dare speak about my daughter, or speak _to_ my daughter. Rose–" she didn't take her eyes off Pansy – "you should go back to the living room."

"No."

Pansy smiled at the girl. Well. Added to Harry, there might actually be _two_ Gryffindors now that Pansy could stand to be around.

"Rose–"

"No, really, Granger. Keep going. You haven't got to the part yet about how anyone who fought on the wrong side twenty-five fucking years ago – or their descendants – will never be worthy of you or your family."

Granger let out a strangled laugh, folding her arms across her chest. "Oh, yes, is that all it was? _Oops_ , just happened to fight on the wrong side." She strode across the kitchen, stopping only a foot in front of Pansy. "I was tortured in Lucius Malfoy's living room," she whispered fiercely.

Rose closed her eyes, and Pansy saw a tear slip down her cheek.

"You yourself tried to hand Harry right over to Voldemort. I don't care how long it's been; how can you stand there and tell me it doesn't matter anymore, that it's just water under the bridge?"

" _Hermione_." Pansy pushed the name through her lips, trying her best to hold her temper. Granger stopped dead, blinking at her, and Pansy took the opportunity to turn to Rose. "It's time, darling," she told her quietly. "This has to stop. Go get him." She nodded out towards the living room.

But Rose shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest and caving in on herself. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. It's now or never."

"Never, then."

Pansy gave her a sad smile.

Granger's eyes darted between them. "Rose?" She glanced back at Pansy. "What are you trying to say?"

"I don't care what you say to me, and Harry doesn't care what you say to him, and both of us are tired of sneaking around, worried about what everyone will _think_ if he takes me to dinner, or we have a picnic in the bloody park, or he gropes my arse in public. I'm not sneaking in and out of hotel rooms anymore like the Chosen One's hooker. He _loves me_ ," she said fiercely, her fingers trembling around her fag as she pointed it at Granger before raising her eyes skyward, "and so help me Merlin, but I love him back, and I don't know how any of this even happened, or where it's going in the future, but I don't give a fuck what _you_ think about it."

Granger shook her head. "Parkinson, for God's sake–"

"I'm not finished." She glanced over Granger's shoulder and saw Rose slip out of the room, reappearing a moment later clutching Scorpius's hand.

Her back to the kitchen door, Granger glared at Pansy but fell silent.

"You can say anything you want to me, but every time you and that husband of yours goes on and on about Slytherins and Malfoys and how you wish the lot of them had just up and died in that war, you are breaking your daughter's heart."

Granger's eyes widened, and she spun around at the sound of a quiet sob just inside the doorway.

"What the hell is all the shouting about in here?" Oh, perfect. Weasley _père_ appeared in the doorway, Harry behind him looking concerned. He shot Pansy a questioning look, and she gave him a tight smile and a slightly apologetic shrug.

" _Rose_?" Weasley's mouth flapped open like a fish. He and Granger both stood gaping at Rose and Scorpius, who, bless them, squared their shoulders and clung to each other as if ready to do battle.

The kitchen fell silent for a long moment, before Granger finally spoke.

"Ron." She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and leaned over, sweeping her hand over her face. "Come sit down. I think... Rose has something to tell us." She looked exhausted all of a sudden, her face drawn, but she gave her daughter a small smile even as her eyes filled with tears. She glanced briefly back at Pansy, her mouth turning down.

Rose let Scorpius slip one arm around her shoulders, and she slid one of hers over his stomach and around his waist. They did look a bit adorable together, Pansy decided, if in something of a deer-in-headlights manner.

"Pans," murmured Harry, beckoning her over Weasley's head. "They don't need us here for this."

As Weasley stumbled into his own chair at the table, still gaping at the kids, Harry reached inside the door and squeezed Rose's shoulder. She glanced back at him and gave him a determined nod. Pansy stubbed her cigarette out in the sink and exhaled one last puff of smoke. "Well!" she said brightly, making her way across the kitchen. "My work here is done." She cupped Scorpius's cheek when she reached him. "Confidence, darling. And Granger," she called over her shoulder as Harry tried to usher her out. "Come by the shop sometime when you're through here. Scorpius brews an excellent Calming Draught."

"Come _here_ , Christ." Harry tugged on her arm as she stumbled out the kitchen door, but he was laughing ruefully into her shoulder. They closed the door behind them and he pulled her into his arms. "Can't leave you alone for five bloody minutes, can I?" he murmured against her cheek.

"Mm, you shouldn't want to." She ran her fingers along his jaw and kissed him. "I just fixed your entire extended family. Where's my thank you?"

"'Fixed' – is that what you're calling it?" He was smiling at her, his fingers light across her cheek.

"I'm a terrific mediator. Now, if only we can get Granger and Weasley to quit being so stubborn about interhouse cooperation and see the benefits of it–"

"Do you really want them seeing the same benefits you do?"

"Well, no, not _exactly_ the same. Ew."

"But they should give Slytherins a chance, is that it?"

"Scorpius isn't even a Slytherin!"

"Shhh." He laughed against her mouth, pulling her bottom lip gently between his. "I know, baby. You're preaching to the converted."

"Hm." She tried to turn her face away, but a smile tugged at her lips. Damn him. He smelled delicious, and she'd never get tired of the safe feeling she got whenever his arms were wrapped around her.

"Come on." He led her to the door. "I was looking for a spare toothbrush in your lingerie drawer the other day," he murmured, smiling against her neck, "and found a terribly cute little pair of antlers..."

She laughed, pushing him out the door ahead of her. Happy Christmas indeed.

***

**Spring ( _a renewal_ )**

 

"Oh my God, how are you this strong? And remind me why I can't use magic for this?"

"Physical fitness, Malfoy," Rose teased. "No sense having the best wand skills in Britain if you'd fall down from exertion in the middle of a duel."

"Yeah, I'll make you fall down from exertion from something," he muttered, grinning slyly at her even as he heaved the last of her boxes up the steps and dropped them on the living room floor. She lowered her own – four boxes to his two – with much less effort, smirking triumphantly at him.

"Is that it?"

"That's all your dad would let me take," he said with a snort. "You might have to check back. He wouldn't let me into your room."

Rose sighed. "I'll go back tomorrow." She stepped in close and wrapped her arms around his waist. "He really is taking this remarkably well."

Scorpius's eyebrows shot up. "I believe the security of my balls was mentioned more than a few times."

"Mum said he didn't really mean that." Rose waved one hand. "Let's take him to Mulligan's tomorrow night. If you let him beat you at darts, he'll forget all about your balls."

"Er– okay. I guess that would be a good thing. Just don't invite your brother."

Rose pulled back, raising an eyebrow.

"I think he was flirting with me at the New Year's party." Scorpius furrowed his brow as if trying to decide. "Something about a banana and a doughnut? I don't even–"

Rose laughed, leaning up to kiss his nose. "That's just Hugo," she said, shaking her head. "Don't go swimming with him or anything, but other than that, I think you'll be safe. Besides, it's a good thing, in a way."

"Um, how do you figure?"

She slid her arms around his neck and let him pull her in close. "Because he's not trying to kill you."

"Ah."

"Hey, Scorp?"

"Mm." He kissed the top of her head, and she smiled against his chest.

"Welcome to the family."

**Author's Note:**

> Please review [here](http://community.livejournal.com/smutty_claus/160092.html?mode=reply).


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